Tangled Plans
by Lucinda
Summary: Plans never work well in Sunnydale. And when the plans of Scott and Jean collide with the Scoobies and the Initiative, things can only get worse. Post Movie 1, season 4 BtVS. Ensemble cast.
1. parts 1 to 3

author: Lucinda

rating: pg13

ensemble cast from BtVS and several X-Men/Marvel comics (movie-verse)

disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to anyone from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or the X-Men movie or comics. Charlie is an aged (and modern setting) version of the character created by Mr. Stephen King.

distribution: Twisting, anyone else please ask first.

notes: Set in early season 4. Spike has not been chipped. Oz has not cheated with Veruca, but Willow and Tara have met at the Wanna-Blessed-Be's group, and are on friendly (not romantic) terms. The X-Men are based on the movie (first one only) with additional background information from the comics. There is one tiny mention of something from the second movie, but unless you've seen the movie, you won't know what it is.

"I just don't get it, Willow. I mean, if this old book has survived for I can't remember how many years, and it's sturdy enough to send by US mail, why can't Giles just go over and pick it up, instead of sending us after it?" Buffy sighed, the complaint almost a token protest. Giles had sent the pair of them to pick up a rare book sent by one of his colleagues, and the post office had been holding it.

Willow snorted, not believing that her friend was upset over the book. "You'd just rather spend time flirting with Riley Finn. Is that even... I mean, he's the Teacher's Assistant, are you sure that's not against university policy or something?"

Buffy made an exaggerated pout at her friend. "Well... cute guy, or boring post office? Where's the tough decision? And if Oz wasn't off at class, you'd be complaining right along with me, wouldn't you?"

Willow tried to glare, but couldn't quite keep from laughing. "Well... maybe. But Giles is busy with his inventory, so he couldn't go during business hours, and he's not really certain how trustworthy his register girl is, so... what else is he going to do?

"Anyhow, he should just tell his friends to ship their stuff over by UPS or something, they take it right to your door." Buffy smiled, possibly trying to plan out the explanation why Giles should have his friends do this, without mentioning the ulterior motive of more free time for her. A shrill whine in the air made them both look up, enabling them to stare with open jaws at the sleek black plane skimming barely over the trees.

"Holy... who's plane is that? Can I have one? And wow..." Buffy stared, part of her mind wondering if this was some new trouble.

Willow stared as well, her mind turning over facts and speculations rapidly. "It sort of resembles a Lockheed-Martin SR 71, but that's a military aircraft, and not for any private individual. And I think... that one was definitely not the standard SR-71, because it was going way too slow, so it's a carefully modified plane based on a military design. Whoever's in that plane has access to military plans and some really good scientists..."

"Do I want to know how you know that?" Buffy glanced at her friend.

"I used to think I wanted to go into aeronautical engineering, before I knew about things going bump. Lockheed's practically the place to go, they do a lot of innovative designs, and... well... I'm descending into techno-geek, aren't I?" Willow blushed a bit, looking at her shoe. "Do you think it might be connected to those camouflage people?"

"Aero... you mean, designing airplanes? Wow... So, that plane is a sign of something being up, right?" Buffy was now frowning, trying to figure out who or what could have the connections and resources to afford something like that. "Where did it go?"

"Yeah, it's a big, probably doesn't show up on radar sign that things in Sunnydale have just gotten a bit more complicated." Willow sighed, for a moment thinking wistfully of the chance to go away for college, to Harvard, or Yale, or... anywhere. But she'd stayed here, to help Buffy. This wasn't a time for 'could have been's. "We need to talk to Giles."

Giles was in the back room of the Magic Box, checking his inventory, muttering curses on the people who packed things for shipping. He sounded rather unhappy.

"Let's just hope those are only figurative, right? We got your package." Buffy looked at Giles with a hint of caution.

"And we saw something sort of unexpected, well, more like really unexpected and possibly one of a kind." Willow's eyes had taken on a particular gleam; one that said her mind was hard at work on something.

Giles looked at Buffy, clearly hoping that she could translate the impending babble. "What did you see?"

"It was this neat looking black plane, and it was pretty low." Buffy spoke quickly, trying to prevent the babble.

Willow gave her this look, as if she'd just said something offensive. "It wasn't just a plane! It looked like a modified Lockheed-Martin SR-71! Complete with the radar reflective paint and the nifty angles that cut the radar profile down to almost nothing, and it was only a little over the treetops! Only the military have those planes, and they just don't fly that slowly! Which means that it's been modified, and modified with something pretty impressive and new, like not even published yet type new, and that means you're talking engineering geniuses, and millions of dollars just to build the plane... and who's got that besides the government, and why is it in Sunnydale?"

Buffy blinked, and tried to calm her friend. "Okay, okay, it's not just a plane. It's a really expensive plane that shouldn't be here. But it's definitely not the ordinary thing to see, and it's sort of... not covered in these books."

Giles nodded, lowering the clipboard with his inventory records with a gusty sigh. "Indeed. I suggest... perhaps the two of you might try to figure out where it is, and if there is any clue as to who or what was flying it? Possibly some hint as to why they're here?"

"Right. We can go be all looking around... oh, no, if I don't get some help with that paper, I'm doomed!" Buffy had suddenly frowned, and bolted out the door.

Willow looked at the door, and then back to Giles. "She talked Riley into promising to help her with it."

"Ahhhh." Giles shook his head, looking at his hands. "She is.... quite herself, isn't she?"

"Would we want her any other way?" Willow offered a small smile. "I'm just going to go check out that direction, maybe see if I see anything."

Giles made a slight 'hmmmm' noise, as if he was giving the matter serious consideration before he smiled. "Yes, I suppose you're right. While I do occasionally wish she took her responsibilities a bit more seriously, I wouldn't want her to not be Buffy any longer."

Willow found herself smiling as she left, part of her mind thinking about how everything was changing with college, and another part still thinking over that plane. Something had to be going on, and she had the feeling that they would end up learning more about it sooner or later. Hopefully, it wouldn't be a painful experience.

End part 1.

Willow's meandering eventually brought her to an open area, with a nice view of Sunnydale, and rather close to the woods. She'd had quite a few picnics here with Oz, just enjoying the quiet and the peaceful feeling of the woods. Right now, the clearing had that sleek black aircraft resting in the middle. With a soft 'ohhhh', Willow moved closer, looking at the outsides of the dark marvel of engineering, observing the way the radar absorbing paint seemed to pull in the light, making it look almost too dark, as if it had no place here.

The plane seemed to be empty, sitting alone and unprotected in the soft grass. How had there been room for it to land? How would there be room for it to take off? It was only then that the more disturbing question formed in her mind. If the people that had arrived in the craft were not here, where were they, and what were they doing?

Willow turned and started back towards the campus, full of worry and unfocused fear. Mysterious people with highly advanced technology were in Sunnydale. Not only that, but they were apparently trying to keep their presence relatively unknown, which was a further cause for worry. Why didn't they want anyone to know? What were they hiding? She tried to hurry, wishing that she could run the whole distance, or maybe there was a spell to just… teleport the distance. Yeah, that would be nice… except that she didn't know any such useful spell.

Maybe Tara could help her try to figure out what was going on? Despite being a few months older, Tara seemed shy, acted younger in some ways, and almost painfully adult in others. If they could maybe… maybe scry for an image of the people who'd arrived in that plane, they could… well, probably not know what they wanted, but at least know who to watch for.

And after far too long to worry and allow her mind to spin out terrible scenarios of what the mysterious people might want, Willow arrived at the dorm where Tara's room was. She knocked on the door, still feeling fluttery and nervous about the whole thing. After a few moments, the door opened, and there was Tara, looking pale, and tired.

"Hey Willow. I have… cocoa." Tara sounded worried, almost afraid.

Willow slipped into the room, the darkness that was normally soothing feeling oddly gloomy today. "Tara? What's wrong?"

"You'd just… it's not that important. I shouldn't be letting it bother me." Tara looked tense, as if she was expecting something to jump out, or to hit her at any moment. "So… what brings you here looking all out of breath?"

"There was this aircraft… a modified version of a military plane. And it's in Sunnydale. I'm pretty sure that whoever flew in is up to something, and we don't know who, or what, or why, and that's almost never good here, so I've been worried, and…" Willow sank down onto Tara's futon, her hands wide as she sighed. "I was hoping that you could help me figure out what's going on?"

"Oh." Tara seemed to relax a little, a tiny smile appearing on her face. "I think we could do that… A few scryings, nothing too big. And then I won't be thinking about... never mind. "

Willow frowned in concern, wondering what Tara was trying not to think about. She seemed far to upset for it to be school, and she didn't think that Tara was dating anyone, so what did that leave? Job hassles? Car trouble, or did Tara even have a car? A family concern, like illness or maybe one of her parents had lost their job? Hadn't she said once that her family was from out of state, and her mother was dead?

They both poured water from carved wooden cups into a small silver bowl, and then Tara poured a small measure of oil onto the water, the scent reminding Willow of cough drops somehow. "Take my hands, and then focus on the plane, and it s-should appear in the water. An image of it."

Willow held out her hands, feeling the warmth of Tara's grip fold over them. She closed her eyes, remembering the grassy meadow, the plane in all its light absorbing glory… Hearing Tara's gasp, she opened her eyes, looking down at the bowl. An image of the meadow, complete with the plane was there, wavering slightly as the water's surface rippled.

"You're right, that doesn't look like it belongs here." Tara whispered, her eyes still on the sleek craft. "N-now, we try to move the image b-backwards, watch for who came out of it…"

Willow felt like her eyes were going to dry up as she peered at the water. Eventually, the image showed people moving backwards towards the black plane, like watching a video on rewind. There was a dark haired man in red sunglasses, and a red haired woman, both in what looked like normal clothing. Both of them were fairly attractive, appearing to be in their mid twenties. But why were they in Sunnydale?

"They d-don't look m-military…" Tara's voice was soft, filled with unhappiness and worry.

"They don't look like they should have a multi-million dollar aircraft either. But they came out of it, and they're here somewhere." Willow sighed, wondering if she could try to get Tara to calm down enough to explain why she was upset or if the pair of them should worry more about finding the people from the plane.

"Sometimes, looks c-can be d-deceptive." Tara looked on the verge of tears.

"It can't be that bad, can it?" Willow reached out, her hand resting on Tara's shoulder. "Do you… if you want to talk about it, I can listen."

End part 2.

Buffy sighed in frustration, trying to remain calm. Where was Riley? They were supposed to be meeting to work on that psych paper, and he was… not here. Apparently, his entire frat house was empty, and he wasn't at the campus library or the computer lab. So, where was he? And he'd better have a good excuse for standing her up like this…

Ten minutes stretched into fifteen, and then to twenty. Smothering a shriek of outraged frustration, Buffy stomped out of the room, absolutely furious. Riley was going to be in trouble. Maybe she could find some demons or vamps to vent some of this frustration on… No-good, miserable boyfriend, standing her up…

She found an old building, the sort that really looked like it should be torn down for the basic safety of everybody. There was a presence inside, vampires. None of them felt particularly strong, but there were numbers. That was trouble enough, and she was the Slayer, chosen by destiny to get rid of trouble, to kill vampires. Not boyfriends. She kicked the door in, stalking inside, a stake in each hand, looking forward to this. There were some battered couches that looked like they'd been liberated from the junkyard, and broken chairs. Crumpled napkins stained with blood had fallen all around, causing the place to have a soured coppery stench.

This place had to go.

Buffy found and staked over a dozen vampires, all of them minions, and none of them skilled fighters. Actually, the place almost felt more like a run down, skanky brothel then a lair of blood-sucking monsters. Still, she kept staking until there was no more vampire buzz in the building, slipping out through the broken door. She felt a little better.

She was still walking through town when she felt something. It wasn't the presence of a vampire, and it wasn't precisely evil feeling, but there was… something. This weird sort of humming sensation, like she'd just stepped on a floor that was shaking, except that it was definitely from her Slayer senses. But it didn't make sense, what could she be detecting? Maybe she'd better find out…

Tracking something solely by her Slayer senses was remarkably like a game of hot and cold, with several wrong turns and a lot of confusion. Eventually, she found herself following an apparently normal couple. They looked to be in their twenties, and were dressed casually, a red haired woman and a dark haired guy with nifty looking red sunglasses. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn't quite place it.

The woman sighed, rubbing her temple with one hand. "I just wish… why is this so difficult? I can't seem to think straight here. Scott, did I remember to bring the headache medicine?"

The man gave her a quick one-armed hug. His voice was oddly familiar. "Yes, we brought it. Flying gave you headaches before, it's just that you've been having so many since the statue…"

Buffy blinked, wondering what the odds were. Here, in Sunnydale, was her long lost – well, not quite lost – cousin Scott Summers. They hadn't seen him in years, not since his parents moved to Alaska. "Scott? Scott Summers? You never call, you never write…"

He spun around, jaw dropping a bit with shock. "Wha… Buffy? But you're… didn't you live in Los Angeles?"

Buffy hugged him, feeling solid muscle under his jacket. Apparently, her cousin had grown up to be quite the hottie. "We moved. It's so good to see you again. And you look pretty good yourself. I don't think we can call you Slim anymore."

"Scott…" The red haired woman's voice held curiosity, impatience, and jealousy. "Are you going to introduce me to your… friend?"

"ahhh. Of course." Scott was blushing, looking quite sheepish. "Buffy, this is Jean Grey. Jean, this is my cousin, Buffy Summers."

"Your cousin?" That seemed to make everything better for her, and Jean smiled pleasantly. Extending her hand, she spoke again. "I'm pleased to meet you, Buffy."

Buffy touched Jean's hand, intending to offer a polite and not too strong handshake. It looked like this was Scott's girlfriend. But everything fell apart when her hand touched Jean's. Jean stiffened, her eyes going wide, the pupils shrinking to tiny specks as her back arched. Her mouth opened as if she was about to scream, but nothing came out, and then Jean collapsed, falling to the ground like a puppet with suddenly severed strings.

"Oh my God!" Buffy yelped, trying to catch Jean before her head could slam into the sidewalk. "What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know." Scott sounded horrified and nervous and shocked. "You didn't…. there was nothing that should have caused that. We need to get her somewhere quiet." He lifted her up, holding Jean in his arms.

"We can go to mom's art gallery, that's fairly close. I know that arms get tired after carrying someone for very long, we wouldn't want you to drop her." Buffy felt horrible, terrified that it had somehow been her fault that Jean had collapsed. She could have carried Jean to the Gallery or farther, but then… how would she explain that to her cousin? This was a bad thing, she was sure of it.

End part 3.


	2. parts 4 and 5

Tara seemed upset at the idea of talking about whatever already had her upset, if that even made any sense. Willow paused, rewinding the thought a moment before concluding that it worked, or close enough. Tara was upset and nervous, and was afraid that somehow, things would be worse if she explained why she was upset. Maybe it was some sort of relationship problem?  
  
"S-s now we should try to find th-them. Focus on the p-people." Tara's hands were shaking just a little as they gripped Willow's hands.  
  
Willow nodded, trying to swallow. She didn't quite understand why her mouth felt so dry, or why her stomach was fluttering so much, it reminded her of the sort of terrified anticipation that used to happen when she tried to talk to a guy, only she had no idea why she was feeling that way. She also felt a little bit lightheaded. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on the people who had emerged from the aircraft.  
  
It felt like there was something tickling the inside of her head, just behind her eyes. Her scalp felt all prickly, like there was a lot of electrical current in the air, and she felt like she had goose-bumps rising all over her arms. There was an odd feeling, as if something were prickling at her eyes, similar to the after effects of the glaucoma test from the eye-doctor, and then an image began to unfold, as if projected on the inside of her eyelids. She could see them, only for some reason, the man was carrying the woman, and she appeared to be unconscious. Buffy was with them, looking worried.  
  
Wasn't Buffy supposed to be with Riley? She'd said that he had to help her with that Psychology paper about behavioral modification, which was due next week. But then, where was Riley, and why was Buffy taking those strangers into Mrs. Summers' art gallery?  
  
"Tara?" The barest confused whisper emerged. Was this how the spell was supposed to work?  
  
"Do you s-see them? Where… why is B-buffy with them?" Tara's voice sounded almost as if it was echoing through a tunnel.  
  
"I see them. It looks like they're going to the art gallery, and I thought Buffy was supposed to be with Riley. What happened to the red head? Err… the one from the plane, because I'm fine, and a red-head, and umm… babbling." Willow's words spilled out.  
  
"I think w-we should go there. Find out what they're d-doing." Tara stood up slowly, trembling as she spoke. "Buffy c-could need out help."  
  
"I hope not, but we don't know anything about these people." Willow felt a bit shaky herself, and she wasn't certain if it was the magic or the unanswered questions about the mysterious people.  
  
Tara almost seemed to be rushing them out the door, as if she didn't want to take a second longer than she had to. She seemed even more skittish than normal.  
  
"Tara! Wait just a moment." The voice came from a strange blond woman in a long skirt and a loose-sleeved blouse. She didn't look or sound particularly dangerous.  
  
But Tara flinched, almost as if she'd been struck, and grabbed Willow's arm, practically bolting away from the woman. "We don't have time right now…"  
  
As they hurried away, Willow glanced back, seeing the look of frustration on the strange blonde's face. "Tara? Who was that?"  
  
"My cousin Beth. We don't h-have time to t-talk to her r-right n-now." Tara's stammer seemed much worse, and she was definitely nervous.  
  
Willow blinked, rather confused by Tara's reaction. It was as if Tara was afraid of her cousin… or maybe her cousin was connected to whatever Tara was upset about. Now, if only she had some idea what that could possibly be that was so upsetting and unsettling for Tara… But Tara didn't want to talk about it, and this wasn't the time to press on it. "Of course. We have to figure out what's going on with Buffy."  
  
The pair of them were flushed and breathless by the time they reached the gallery, and Willow still felt nervous, although not nearly as light headed as she had in the dorm room. They slipped into the gallery, looking at intensely colorful abstract art, most of it featuring sweeping arcs in shades of red against greens and blues. The artist was listed as a V. Creed.  
  
"Well, those are colorful." Willow glanced at the canvases, wondering if they were actually supposed to look like blood splatters and sprays against a wall, or if that was just her own morbid imagination, twisted by life on the Hellmouth.  
  
Tara just shivered. "I don't like them. D-d you see Buffy?"  
  
"No, they must be in the back, where Mrs. Summers has her office. But the good thing, if they were fighting, we'd hear it, right?" Willow moved through the front room, hoping to find answers.  
  
The door to the office was indeed open, and Willow peeked inside. Buffy was sitting in her mother's office chair, the strange red head was draped over the couch, with the dark haired guy sitting on the edge of it, brushing his fingers over her cheek. He looked so much like the worried boyfriend that he had to care about the woman.  
  
"Hey, Buffy. What's going on? I thought you and Riley were going to work on that paper?" Willow tried to sound cheerful, casual. As if she and Tara hadn't just run from the campus.  
  
End part 4.  
  
Buffy looked over, a bit startled by the arrival of Willow and her friend. What was that girl's name again? Kara, Sarah, something close to that. Willow looked all flushed, but her friend looked petrified, and almost like she was going to be sick. "Hey, what's the what? Umm… Riley was a no show, so I took a walk, and… umm… this is my cousin Scott and his girlfriend Jean."  
  
Willow looked surprised by that, and carefully closed the door behind her, with the odd look that she got when her mind was working on some complex problem. Her friend just leaned against the wall, looking pale and shaking. Willow then glanced at Scott, and slowly asked "Just what do you do for a living, Mr. Summers? Or are you related through her mom, which would make you last name probably something else, and is she okay?"  
  
Scott glanced at Jean, smiling just a little before looking over at Willow. He still hadn't taken the sunglasses off, regardless of the fact that it really wasn't that bright inside. "I'm a teacher at a private school."  
  
Buffy chuckled a little, thinking back to the last time she'd seen Scott, years ago. "So, your dream of becoming a major league baseball player fell through, huh?"  
  
"You never mentioned that you wanted to be a professional baseball player." Jean's voice was weak, and her eyes were still closed, but she had apparently woke up.  
  
Buffy breathed a sigh of relief, glad that she hadn't somehow broken Scott's girlfriend. He would have been horribly upset, and really, who would have blamed him? Jean still didn't look very perky, but awake was generally good. Now, if they could only figure out what was wrong with Jean and why Willow's friend was a nervous wreck…  
  
Scott looked like he was blushing as he smiled at Jean. "Well, by the time I met you, I knew that wasn't going to happen. Are you alright? You just… if that was from those headaches, you have to see a doctor."  
  
"No, it wasn't… not like you mean. It was… I saw…" Jean rose to a seated position, but there was something about the movement that didn't seem right. It was almost as if some invisible force had lifted her, rather than someone just sitting up. She winced, rubbing at her temple again. "Who are your friends?"  
  
"I'm Willow, and this is Tara." Willow spoke, gesturing as she did. Looking at the pair of them, she continued, her voice having that extra bland note that generally meant she was fishing for something self incriminating. "What sort of school do you teach at?"  
  
"I d-didn't know th-that Buffy had a c-cousin…" Tara's voice was soft, and extra quavery. Something had really freaked her out.   
  
Scott hadn't looked away from Jean. "It's in New York. Xavier's School for the Gifted. He's a bit particular about the students that he accepts, it's very exclusive."  
  
Buffy looked back at Jean, wondering what she could have meant by those words 'I saw'. What had she saw, and why had it caused her to collapse so spectacularly? "Scott? Does… umm… there's no polite way to put this. Does Jean…" Suddenly realizing how rude it was to talk about someone like they weren't there, Buffy looked at her cousin's girlfriend, putting the question in the open. "Do you have a history of seizures?"  
  
For a moment, the pair of them just looked stunned. Then, Jean made this odd noise, like she wasn't certain if she wanted to laugh or cry. Scott was rubbing his hand up and down her arm. Slowly, Scott spoke. "Not exactly. Jean doesn't… it's… complicated."  
  
Buffy smiled just a little, thinking about her own life. "Try us, we might surprise you. I'm good at complicated."  
  
Jean looked at Scott, smiling weakly, looking as if she was in serious pain. "Go ahead, I think… it can't be any stranger than what I saw."  
  
"Are you sure? You know how important the Professor said secrecy could be…" Scott looked worried, presumably about this 'complicated' explanation.  
  
"Does it have to do with the modified military aircraft the pair of you came into town in?" Willow's dry question seemed to startle them.  
  
"Wha… how did you know…" Scott looked at Willow, clearly startled. Shaking his head, he looked at his hand, as if he had no idea how it had curled into a fist. He straightened his shoulders, as if he was bracing for some sort of attack. "Yes, it does. Jean and I… we're mutants."  
  
Blinking, Buffy tried to make sense out of that. "Mutants… you mean like that Magnet guy that was on the news? There's been a fuss about those… wasn't there some sort of law proposed? I remember Willow did this paper on it, basically ripping it apart. I still don't see what that has to do with that funky looking black plane."  
  
Buffy paused, remembering a certain birthday present that Xander had given her. The bizarre and horrible idea blossomed in her mind, and she blurted it out before she could stop herself. "Oh my God, you didn't steal that plane, did you?"   
  
Scott sputtered, looking rather indignant. "We did NOT steal that plane! We… that's not the point."  
  
Willow looked at them, with the gleeful smile that she got when solving a particular puzzle. "Your school… it's for mutants, isn't it? And you came here… why did you come here?"  
  
End part 5. 


	3. parts 6 and 7

Willow watched as Buffy's cousin fidgeted awkwardly, turning to worry at his girlfriend. The other redhead looked pale, and kept rubbing at her temple. Neither one looked very happy.  
  
Finally, Scott looked at them, frowning, eyes almost entirely hidden by those odd red sunglasses. "We look for mutants, and bring them to Xavier's. It's a place where they're safe, and where they can learn about what they can do and how to control those abilities without people being afraid."  
  
"Still not seeing how that connects with Sunnydale." Buffy's mutter was rather unhappy sounding.  
  
Jean looked over, her eyes looking bloodshot and watery as she looked intently at them one at a time. "We think that there are several mutants in Sunnydale."  
  
Buffy blinked, and then tilted her head. "umm… when you say several mutants in Sunnydale… first, how many are you talking about, and second, how accurate is that 'in Sunnydale' part? I mean, could that be near Sunnydale, or sort of in the area, or… what?"  
  
"Three, possibly four." Scott's voice was calm. "We don't have addresses for anybody, and only some really sketchy descriptions to go by. A pair of blond women and a guy with dark hair, possibly an athlete of some sort. Pretty normal looking, according to… our source."  
  
Willow leaned back, trying to sort out what Scott had said, and what he hadn't said. If they had descriptions, then there was some source of information telling them about these mutants. Some way to identify, locate, and possibly track them, which could easily become a very bad thing in the wrong hands. Scott didn't want to reveal this source, which was both easily understandable and worrisome. "What if they don't want to go to this school?"  
  
Jean looked startled, as if she hadn't expected that question. "We won't force anyone to go with us, but if they need to learn control… most of the people we approach want that control very badly. Going away to a school seems a simple enough way to get that."  
  
Buffly settled onto the wheeled chair that her mom used, looking at her cousin with worry in her eyes. "What if… what if the mutant you find is dangerous? What if… what if they try to hurt you? There are some bad people in Sunnydale… in the world. I only just found you again, I don't want you to get hurt."  
  
"Buffy, I can handle myself. I'm not the same skinny teen that you remember." Scott smiled, as if he was both irritated and delighted that someone was worrying about him like that.  
  
"We didn't learn how to deal with this sort of place, Scott. There are… Your cousin's out fighting vampires and demons! Real ones." Jean's voice was also worried.  
  
Willow blinked, suddenly very curious about this. She also noticed the way that Buffy sort of froze, her whole body going into alert-Slayer mode.  
  
"How did you know that?" The question slipped out, sounding soft and almost dangerous.  
  
"I'm a telepath." Jean's words were soft, more headachy sounding than apologetic. "Most of the time, I don't get too much by accident, but when you touched my hand, I was… there were all these images. Bits and pieces of things that should have been in a horror movie, but they're your life."  
  
Buffy winced. "Sorry about that."  
  
Willow moved closer, not quite within touching distance of either of them. There was something that they weren't being told here, and she had the feeling that it could be important. "So… are you still working on that control you mentioned, or were Buffy's images just… really strong?"  
  
"Her images were… powerful, and terrifying." Jean sighed, pulling her knees up to sit, looking almost like she wanted to pull herself inwards. It was a drastic change from the air of confidence that she'd shown when leaving the plane. "There was… my abilities seem to be changing lately, ever since… I'm having to work harder to control them. But I think… I think one of the mutants had a high school football jersey on. Razorbacks… number twenty three, or maybe twenty eight. And dark hair."  
  
"Right. That would be Sunnydale high, although he must have either bought it or had it more than a year." Buffy looked like she was thinking out loud. "There is no current class of Sunnydale High, with the mascot of the mighty…" Buffy snickered, probably remembering the cute little pig that had been the mascot before being eaten by the hyena possessed students. "Umm… Sunnydale High, mascot Razorbacks. It got… the building blew up during graduation in the spring, so… I think there's still a big mess over rebuilding and if so where."  
  
"I'm surprised there's still so many people here." Scott's words were filled with shock.  
  
"People have sufficiently repressed and explained away everything too weird, and they don't want to think about it." Willow glanced at them both. "Maybe… umm… a map of the city? Are you going to go over and visit Buffy's mom while you're in town?"  
  
"I guess that we should." Scott nodded slowly, helping Jean to her feet. "Maybe we'll be able to have a nice family visit while we're in the area."  
  
Willow wasn't certain if anybody else noticed the way Tara flinched at the words 'family visit', but she did. And not only did it set off warning bells in her mind, but it started a few questions turning over in her mind. She was pretty sure now that the whole mysterious thing bothering Tara had to do with her family. But was she worried for her family, or afraid of them?  
  
"Fair enough. Tara and I had some studying to do, you can just… catch up on the past few years." Willow offered a small smile, before turning to Tara. "Shall we? The library should be pretty quiet."  
  
End part 6.  
  
Buffy smiled, linking one arm with Scott's, who had Jean on the other side. She couldn't quite keep the smile from her face, too delighted that she'd found her cousin, and the 'something weird' was finally the sort f weird that didn't require her to go Slaying. She practically towed them out, finding her Mom easily enough in the gallery, smiling as people walked around. Honestly, the paintings didn't appeal to her at all. Too much like gory blood-sprays. But there were a lot of different art trends, maybe this V. Creed person was just… following another trend. Didn't mean she had to like the paintings.  
  
"Mom! Guess what…" She almost bounced on her toes, the hand firmly gripping Scott's sleeve. "It's Scott! My favorite most cousin in the whole world…"  
  
Her mom turned, smiling as she looked over Scott and his girlfriend. "Scott Summers… it's been ages. You look pretty good. And who's this?"  
  
"Scott finally got a girlfriend, her name's Jean Grey." Buffy smiled, trying to resist the urge to stick her tongue out at Scott just a little bit. There was no sense in trying to keep something like that from her mom, and it would prevent any possible matchmaking efforts…  
  
Jean made a small noise, not quite a giggle, and smiled at her maybe future aunt. "Hello, Mrs. Summers."  
  
"Just call me Joyce. Are the two of you coming over for dinner tonight? I've got a nice roast…" Her mom was smiling at the pair of them as if they were the long lost relatives returned, which was sort of half right. "And what brings you to Sunnydale anyhow?"  
  
"Just… ummm" Scott fumbled for words, looking almost too cute.  
  
Snickering, Jean kissed his cheek. "We had some time off, and thought that a California beach might be nice. Then we bumped into Buffy…"  
  
Buffy managed to keep a straight face, but it was hard. Apparently, Jean and Scott didn't want to discuss the rest of it here, or maybe not with Mom at all. "Why don't I take them on over to the house, and I can start catching up?"  
  
Joyce nodded, looking faintly worried as a knot of people started towards some paintings. "Sure thing, honey. I'll be over when the gallery closes."  
  
They started walking along the sidewalk, Buffy both glad for her Slayer stamina and wishing that she could afford a car. Even some worn out clunker that was almost as old as she was. Even Giles' old car. "So, why couldn't you two have just… I don't know, flown Delta or something and rented a car when you got here?"  
  
"What, no car of your own?" Jean smiled a little, almost teasing.  
  
Buffy frowned, kicking at a small rock. "License, check. Car… no. I'm a college student, I don't have time for a job that actually pays money. Mom's… well, she doesn't have the spare cash to buy me a car, Dad's… footing the rest of college, so he doesn't have the cash to get me a car, and oddly enough, banks don't want to give an unemployed college student a loan to buy one."  
  
"Logical. Not very fun for you, but logical." Scott nodded, looking almost amused. "But one of the things… There's this tendency for interesting events to happen, and it's good to be able to leave on our own schedule. And sometimes… some new students wouldn't be ready for a public airport, if you follow."  
  
For just a moment, Buffy didn't follow at all, and then she remembered the swim team. Not all mutants looked as normal as Scott and Jean. "Yeah, I guess not. So… what's with the red glasses? New York fashion trend or something?"  
  
Scott sighed, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. "Or something. It's… they're a special type. My eyes are… sort of sensitive, I guess you'd say."  
  
Buffy nodded, thinking that his evasive answer reminded her an awful lot of the way Angel used to try not to mention the whole vampire thing. So the red glasses probably had to do with his mutation somehow, and it made him feel self-conscious. "Alright… it could be worse though. You could have an obsessive compulsive love of badly played bagpipes. There was this neighbor for a while down the street… We used to wonder if he was doing cruel and unusual things to cats. But no, it was him trying to play the bagpipes…"  
  
"Bagpipes? And you said trying… was he that bad?" Jean was smiling now.  
  
"He was that bad." Buffy nodded. Then, inspiration hit her. "Oh, maybe… I've got Sunnydale Yearbooks, maybe one of them might help you identify that guy."  
  
"Might be good. Of course, a name isn't quite the same as knowing exactly where he is, but it's better than a vague description." Scott smiled. "One little thing… why exactly did the school blow up?"  
  
"umm….. the Fire Marshal decided that there was… this really big gas leak?" Buffy offered the official verdict, wondering if her cousin would believe that laughable story.  
  
"And the real reason was….?" Scott sounded like he was trying not to laugh. "You already told me the people here practice denial like a religion."  
  
"Well… fine." Buffy sighed, fumbling for her keys. "We blew it up to destroy Mayor McDemon after he turned into a sixty foot snake that was planning on eating the graduating class."  
  
"oh." Scott and Jean both sounded a bit stunned. "Sounds like school was… memorable for you."  
  
"Yeah. Giles even found my diploma for me. It's a little singed on the end, but hey, all graduated and in college now." Buffy smiled, swinging open the door to the Summers home.  
  
"I think catching up is going to take a while." Scott lightly tapped her shoulder with his fist, as if in this case, Buffy were one of the guys, grinning like they had years ago.  
  
Jean looked over, focusing on Buffy. "The giant not quite a snake that ate this… annoying man in a suit? I know that you… you find and fight things… terrible things all the time. What I'd like to know is why."  
  
Buffy sighed, sitting down on her mom's chair. "Okay, there are a whole lot of nasty things out there that would like to put humans on the menu, vampires and whole huge books full of demons. I could show you one, but they're rather heavy and not very fun reading. But the good news is that there are some people that fate, destiny, God - whatever you want to say is responsible – has chosen to fight those nasty things. To help keep the world turning. I'm one of them. It's an important job, with lots of danger, and a lousy medical plan. I don't get paid either."  
  
"You make it sound like you're out stopping the apocalypse, Buffy." Scott looked like he wasn't certain if he wanted to believe that, filled with worry. "This is just… It seems like such a big thing to have missed."  
  
Buffy sighed, looking at her cousin. "For some reason that I've never understood, trying to end the word or destroy all of humanity seems to be one of the big goals of a lot of demons. We've had to stop a couple nasty things." Closing her eyes, Buffy tried to figure out that tally. The Master hadn't been trying to destroy the world, only rule it. The Judge had wanted to wipe out humanity, there had been Acathala… she shuddered at the whole mess that brought screaming back to memory, those freaky Jhe demon chicks with their plan to open the Hellmouth, and the Mayor's planned Ascension, although she wasn't quite certain if that counted as attempted world destruction, or just a really big and bad plan for urban renovation.  
  
"What is the proper plural for Apocalypse anyhow?" She looked over at Scott and Jean, suddenly curious. "I mean, you said you're at a school, maybe you know."  
  
They were both looking shocked. "umm…" Jean began slowly, looking as if she was trying to pick her words carefully. "I've always gone on the assumption that there was only supposed to be one, and that it should be avoided as long as possible."  
  
"Yeah, avoiding it sounds good. I just wish it were quite that easy, you know?" Buffy sighed.   
  
End part 7. 


	4. part 8

Tara kept fidgeting with her notebook. She would pick up her pencil, and doodle a bit on the page, and sort of stare off at the wall with a little frown, and put the pencil down to glance at the book spread open beside her. After maybe a page, the cycle would start all over. Willow just felt glad for Tara's sake that they'd both finished their papers, and that this was mainly to let Buffy have some family time with her cousin, because it was obvious that Tara wasn't getting anything done.  
  
"Tara? Is there… is something… is the dream analysis giving you problems?" Willow was fairly certain that whatever was bothering Tara had nothing to do with the psychology class, or anything else relating to college. She had the feeling that if it connected to something, it was to her cousin Beth.  
  
Dropping the pencil, Tara wiped at her cheek before looking up. "What if I said… umm… th-there's this… recurring nightmare. I w-wake up, and I'm c-covered in b-blue s-scales. N-not h-human anymore. M-my f-family's th-there, and th-they…"  
  
Willow moved over, putting a comforting arm around Tara as the stammered words dissolved into tears and sobs. She could feel the tears soaking into her shoulder, feel Tara shaking with fear and tangled emotions. Willow was also positive that this nightmare was a bit more than just a 'recurring nightmare'.  
  
A hand touched her shoulder, followed by a familiar gentle voice. "Hey."  
  
Smiling, she looked up at Oz. "Hey yourself. How's your day been?"  
  
Oz shrugged, sitting down on the side that Tara wasn't, his body touching hers. One arm slid around her, offering a bit of support. "It's been. Got practice with the Dingos tonight, essay for History… normal. Yours?"  
  
"Buffy's cousin Scott and his girlfriend showed up today, they're doing sort of a family thing." Willow smiled at her boyfriend, only to feel Tara's grip tighten and the shaking increase at the mention of the word 'family'.  
  
Oz gestured at Tara, one eyebrow raised in puzzlement. It was obvious that he was trying to figure out what happened, and if there was a way to fix it. Maybe even a bit of jealousy that he wasn't the one clinging to Willow like that.  
  
"I… Tara's sort of freaked about something." Willow sighed, feeling pretty frustrated that she couldn't do better than that.  
  
Looking over at the sobbing blond who was clinging to his girlfriend, Oz nodded. "I see." Carefully, he started gathering up the notebooks, slipping them into a bag. "We can go to my apartment, talk. Maybe get her to calm down."  
  
Willow nodded, feeling glad that Oz was here. Oz of the unflappable calm, sweet, dependable Oz. "Sounds like a plan."  
  
It wasn't very long before they left the library, Oz looking faintly amused as he sauntered out with one of them on each arm. "Devon would be jealous."  
  
Tara just gave a slightly weak smile, and blushed, her other hand sort of fluttering, eventually ending up half entangled by the drawstring ties for her crinkly skirt. Willow snickered, leaning over to give Oz a soft kiss on the cheek. "Devon would be trying to lure the pair of us off for a tawdry threesome. And we all know that about him."  
  
Oz just shrugged, not even trying to argue with Willow's point. Devon was well known for his enjoyment of the whole musician-aspiring rock star lifestyle that he led. Instead, he led the pair of them to his van, and they all climbed inside, closing the striped side door behind them.  
  
Tara sort of half chuckled as she fastened her seat belt. "I'm s-sorry. F-for b-being a p-problem."  
  
The casual "No problem." From Oz overlapped with Willow's "oh, you aren't a problem at all!"  
  
The short trip to Oz's little apartment was without further conversation. The radio played a couple songs, the sort of half mindless but loud songs that made thinking an option, and while they were nothing like Tara's normal taste in music, they did seem to help her calm down. The last of the sobs had subsided by the time they parked outside the blocky building, and she was no longer trembling as they walked down the stairwell to Oz' apartment, half below ground level. A woven mat with a slightly stylized wolf howling at a moon was in front of his door. Oz didn't say a word, but gestured for them to go inside.  
  
Once inside, Tara locked the door behind them, the little lock on the knob, the deadbolt above it, and the little flimsy chain as well. She then hugged Willow, and then Oz, leaving them both entirely certain that Tara wasn't just upset, she was afraid.  
  
Willow and Tara settled on the floor, and Oz walked over to the small kitchen area. "Drinks?"  
  
"Some water, please?" Tara's voice was still a bit unsteady, but not nearly as unsteady as it had been.  
  
Oz came back, handing Tara a green plastic cup with water and a couple ice cubes before sitting beside Willow.  
  
For a while, they just sat there, the apartment quiet, half filled with shadows. Tara sipped at her water, the only other movement her eyes, which kept flickering around, glancing as if afraid that something was about to move, to pounce on her. Finally, she put the water down, her knees pulled up in front of her. She looked over at Willow for a moment, before taking a deep breath. "There's this… umm… m-my family is…." She closed her eyes, a tear sliding out from under the lid. "N-no, that's n-not the place to start. Th-there's s-supposed to be d-demon b-blood in my family. On my m-mother's side."   
  
Willow gasped, pieces falling into place. Her family thought there was demon blood… and if Tara was this afraid, they were obviously taking that as a Bad Thing. And somehow, this was the reason why Tara was afraid. "Are they afraid that something will happen? Are… well, it's obvious that you're afraid."  
  
Tara opened her eyes, looking almost fearfully at them both. "Am I…. Do you think I'm evil? They… m-my daddy s-said that if I g-got out of l-line, the d-demon in me w-would c-come out. Th-that they'd have to k-kill me."  
  
Oz looked at her, his eyes half closed. "Any worries about… umm… only child?"  
  
Tara looked at him, a small frown on her face. "N-no, I h-have an older b-brother. Wh-why?"  
  
"Do they worry about him going out of line?" Oz' question sounded entirely calm.  
  
"N-no…" Tara's eyes were focused on Oz, and she looked a bit puzzled.  
  
Willow blinked, considering that. Things weren't adding up at all. "Was there ever a name for the type of demon that your father said you were a little bit?"  
  
Tara shook her head, the hair falling to almost obscure her face. Her reply was barely audible. "no."  
  
"Then I don't think they're worried about 'demon blood' at all." Willow was frowning now. "They just don't want you to go out and be... Tara. They want you to… what, stay at home, cook, clean, never speak up? That's not being afraid of demon blood, that's being a pack of chauvinistic jerks. Because if there was really some sort of unknown demony relative, they'd be affecting your brother just as much as it affects you."  
  
Tara looked at Willow and Oz, her eyes still fearful. "B-but… Momma c-could see things… b-before they happened. And the m-magic comes from her. That was why they said… Sometimes, I s-see things. B-before they happen. Without using a s-spell."  
  
Willow looked at Tara, noticing the way her friend was shaking, the way one of the few sunbeams had slipped in, shimmering on her blond hair. Blond… Tara was a blond woman. What if… "Tara, did it ever occur to you that maybe, instead of being a little bit demon, you might be a mutant? A clairvoyant mutant."  
  
Tara straightened a little, her knees dropping slightly. "A mutant? I know this… this d-difference came from my grandmother… her maiden name was Wilhemina Norton. But nobody could really find anything about her, just that she came from New York. She… I think she might have been able to see things too."  
  
Willow nodded, one hand reaching out to touch Tara's fingertips. "You aren't evil, just afraid. We'll try to help. And oh, maybe you're one of the people that Scott and Jean were looking for!"  
  
Tara chuckled a little. "Maybe.. Being a m-mutant would be better than b-being part d-demon."  
  
End part 8. 


	5. parts 9 to 11

Riley Finn tried to pay attention to the scientist at the front of the room. He might need to know whatever had happened that had the leaders of the Initiative unsettled enough to demand that everybody report here at once for an emergency meeting. A meeting that had run into the time when he was supposed to be meeting Buffy.  
  
He'd much rather be helping a pretty blond with her psychology paper than listening to someone drone on about 'statistical abnormalities that verged on impossibilities' and how something 'seemed to violate the laws of physics'. He'd rather be watching Buffy smile at him, her sparkling eyes hinting that there might be the chance for a lot more between them. They'd been sort of seeing each other, nothing serious yet, but definitely something. At least, before he'd been called here and not able to meet her for that paper. She probably thought that he'd stood her up.  
  
"…. Was almost entirely crushed. A brief examination determined that the steel had not been tampered with, and was, in fact, quite solid. No human should have been capable of even denting it, much less the sort of damage that was done. We've taken steps to try to determine what caused this, but so far everything that we've found suggests that the being in question looked like a blond woman, apparently human." The scientist continued, apparently well into his explanation.  
  
Riley winced, now annoyed that his mind had wandered. Something that looked like a blond woman had crushed a steel… something? A door, maybe? And they were supposed to be looking for this what-ever-it-was and figuring out how to bring it in? He could feel a headache coming on already.  
  
Slowly, the soldiers began to slip out of the room, many of them looking worried. Riley waited, knowing that there would be little point in trying to crowd his way out. Forrest and Graham also waited, neither one looking particularly happy. When enough people had left, Riley looked over at them. "So, shall we go talk about why you two look like you've been sucking lemons?"  
  
They walked through the halls, and rode up the elevator in silence, and then out of Lowell house. Riley was wondering just what was bothering them, and why neither one of them wanted to talk about it inside. The Initiative base or the frat house wasn't good enough to talk in, but sitting under a tree on the edge of the campus was?   
  
He glared at Forrest, normally by far more talkative, and almost growled the words. "Someone had better start talking."  
  
"I don't like this one, Riley." Graham's voice was low, filled with worry. "Why are we going after someone who was apparently taking down hostiles? How is this person a danger when there's no evidence of any aggression against humans?"  
  
"err…." Riley blinked, thinking that not only was that a very interesting question, but that his response sounded entirely foolish. "Aren't we just supposed to be observing?"  
  
"How long does that usually last, Riley?" Forrest's voice was low, as if he was afraid that even here, someone would overhear him. "I think… I think most likely this isn't a demon. Most likely, the blond is a mutant, and those damn vampires just picked the wrong girl to try to eat. But… I've heard a few rumors. Bad ones."  
  
"What sort of rumors?" Riley hadn't heard anything that came to mind about mutants that should be causing Forrest to react like this. "That Magneto guy's in prison."  
  
"Yeah, and I'm glad of that. Whatever he was trying couldn't have been good." Forrest paused, biting at a hangnail. "I'm talking about… there's rumors. Little whispers about using mutants as spies… maybe assassins. On a national level. Questions from places about what makes them different, and looking for changes on the inside. It doesn't… it doesn't quite sound right."  
  
"It sounds like something that should be connected to Hitler and his people, you mean." Graham's words were filled with frustration and unhappiness. "The stories – and they're never more than rumors. Someone overheard somebody talking to their buddy, or their friend's cousin's neighbor heard it… that sort of thing. But the things in them… vivisection. Involuntary drug testing. Rumors of modern day gladiatorial pits where mutants are forced to fight and die for study and entertainment."  
  
"Did you hear…" Forrest paused, swallowing once. "There's one about efforts to control the behavior of mutants. No proof, no names or places, just… whispers."  
  
Riley blinked, his stomach suddenly feeling cold and hard. "Mind control? How? Would that be anything like… Anything like the behavioral modification…" He couldn't quite continue out loud.  
  
"I don't know. All I know is… there's rumors. Ugly ones. And if the chips get sent to us here, who's to say there aren't more going elsewhere?" Forrest looked like he had the same sick feeling that Riley was experiencing. "It's one thing to bring in and kill demons. But not mutants. That's… it's not right."  
  
"Lots of people are afraid, Forrest. Mutants… some of them can do some pretty scary stuff." Riley almost hated the fact that he was saying this. He'd never really thought about mutants before, but this… this just sounded like an ugly problem, either hidden or brewing.  
  
"People used the same argument about gun control, Riley. Laws got passed, and there are still people getting killed with guns every day. Passing laws about mutants won't help anything, and will probably only make things worse." Forrest looked angry, and a bit… was Forrest afraid? "One of my cousins… he was a mutant. Could do this nifty thing with glowing light. Couple of the kids at his school found out, and the next thing the family knew, there was an angry mob. He got beat up pretty bad, and when they found out he was a mutant, the hospital wouldn't treat him. Aunt Deb took him out of town, trying to find a doctor. I never saw him again. I don't know if he's alive or dead, and if anybody else knows, they aren't talking."  
  
"Ohhhh." Riley didn't know what to say. He'd known that Forrest's cousin Ben had vanished, but… he'd just assumed that he'd run away. No wonder Forrest was feeling upset over the whole idea. "Damn."  
  
Graham nodded, his eyes also troubled. "I guess… we can watch, just in case there is a danger. But if not… don't ask, don't tell."  
  
"Isn't that supposed to be about gays?" Forrest punched Graham's arm lightly, teasing the quiet man.  
  
"Times are changing, Forrest. Broaden your horizons already." Graham had a little smile as he teased back.  
  
Riley just shook his head, feeling a bit better now that they had a plan, even if it was pretty rough. Now, if he could just figure out a way to explain things to Buffy… Without getting into things that were classified, or things that she wouldn't believe. After all, military sponsored demon hunting. – who'd believe in something like that?  
  
End part 9.  
  
Scott was pacing. Jean was just sitting in a chair, with a cool cloth and some ice water, watching as he crossed the living room. Buffy shook her head, wondering if things would be like this the whole time they were here.  
  
"What I don't get is why they – and who are these 'they' anyhow? Why don't they find someone else? Someone with training, or resources. Don't send my cousin the cheerleader, send the President and all his men!" Scott sounded worried.  
  
Buffy smiled, liking the fact that he was worried, even if it was a bit misplaced. "Ex-cheerleader. And it's not quite as bad as all that. There's this organization that keeps track of all the nasties, and everybody that might end up a Slayer – that's my nifty title, by the way. Every potential Slayer is supposed to get one, someone to teach her how to get rid of the dangerous things that go bump."  
  
"And how do you do that?" Scott looked at her, his whole body tense. "How do you go out and fight… vampires and demons?"  
  
Buffy grinned at him. "For vampires, usually with a sharp stick. As for the demons… swords, axes… Giles makes me practice with throwing knives and a javelin just in case. And there was this one… well, that's sort of off the point. It's not as bad as it sounds."  
  
"Really?" He scoffed, arms folded over his chest. "You're nineteen years old, you shouldn't be trying to chop demons in half with a sword! This isn't Braveheart."  
  
"Really. They – and I really don't know who 'they' are – but it was a three-for-one special. I get a grand destiny and super strength and nifty healing." Buffy smiled. "It's great that you're worried, but… I've been doing this since I was fifteen, and I have friends who help."  
  
"Isn't that dangerous for them? For your friends who try to help you?" Jean sounded worried. "Does your mom know?"  
  
"Dangerous? Well… yeah." Buffy sighed, reminded of all the times that she'd tried to keep them safe. "It can be, sometimes. But… if they didn't know, that wouldn't keep them safe. At least if they know what's out there, they can be careful in all the right ways. They want to help me, they've… well, they've insisted ever since I moved here. And Mom does know… now. She found out about a year and a half ago."  
  
"How did Aunt Joyce take that?" Scott sat down, looking curious.  
  
"Well…" Buffy paused, trying to figure out how to answer that question. She didn't think bringing up the whole potential end of the world and running away thing would go over very well. "She didn't want to believe me at first. But in time, she came to deal with it, and she worries a lot about me, about all of us."  
  
"I still think it sounds awfully dangerous." Scott was almost sulking. "How would you keep this from a roommate at college? Or a boyfriend?"  
  
"My roommate is Willow, she's one of my helps fight the bad guys friends. She already knows, and I don't have to hide anything from her. As for the boyfriend thing…" Buffy sighed. She'd had terrible luck about that, actually. There was Pike, who'd concluded that stuff was too dangerous and bailed after she'd burned down the Hemerly gym, Angel, her creature of the night older man, Parker the mistake, Scott and Owen, neither of whom had worked out, and… well, she'd thought that maybe there could be something with Riley. Before he stood her up, that is. "It does sort of make dating harder."  
  
"Are you planning on doing this tonight? Going out looking for the monsters?" Scott sounded like he had a plan.  
  
"Yeah, I patrol almost every night. Why?" Buffy looked at him, and then her mind fit the pieces together. "You want to go patrolling with me? Are you crazy? You have no idea what's out there!"  
  
Jean started to laugh, leaning on one arm. "Why am I not surprised… you two have a lot in common. How about this – I'll stay here, and you can try to keep Scott out of trouble. He'll just try to follow you otherwise."  
  
Buffy sighed, wondering just how long they would be staying, and for the first time since she'd realized that this guy was her cousin, she hoped he'd be going home soon. Home where he would be safe. "Fine, Scott can go with me on patrol."  
  
"It's not safe, you know. Not entirely." Jean sounded a lot less amused. "We have… different problems. Problems with people who hate mutants, who fear us. Problems with other mutants who try to hurt people. It's not safe at home, we just know what we're facing there."  
  
"ohh." Buffy considered Jean's words. "That makes sense, I guess. In the really not happy sort of way, but it does."  
  
End part 10.  
  
"So, will you talk about whatever had you so upset earlier?" Willow asked Tara, hoping that she might be able to help. "I mean, does it help knowing that we don't think that you're all evil and grrr?"  
  
Tara sort of giggled, and blushed a bit. "Yeah, it does help some. It's… the thing is, my… M-my dad thinks that I should come home. That I've w-wasted enough time here. And I don't want to go, but I was… I'm afraid. Afraid that they'll do something or say something horrible."  
  
"Willow likes you. You don't have to go unless you want to." Oz sounded almost calm, except that here was just the smallest hint of growl to his words, a tiny hint that the wolf was in agreement.  
  
"ummmm… okay." Tara looked at Oz as if she wasn't quite certain that she wanted to ask. Glancing over at Willow, she whispered "Did he j-just… growl?"  
  
"Only a little." Willow smiled. Personally, she sort of liked it when Oz growled, but… Well, that was so entirely away from the topic at hand that it was entirely, well, off topic. "Don't worry about it."  
  
"Beth is my cousin. On my mother's side. I think… I think they're trying to make her take care of them while I'm away. M-maybe she thinks that if I go b-back, then she can… well, then she can leave." The words were whispered, as if Tara was afraid, or didn't want to believe them.  
  
"Do you think maybe you'd want to go to that school where Buffy's cousin teaches?" Willow asked, hoping that if she made Tara see that there were options, it would help her calm down, be less afraid.  
  
"Buffy's cousin?" Oz repeated, glancing at Willow with an expression that was a clear request for more details.  
  
"Buffy's got a cousin named Scott, he and his girlfriend Jean dropped into the area. They're mutants, and they have a school that tries to help other mutants learn to control their abilities. Apparently, there's supposed to be three or four mutants in the Sunnydale area, and… well, maybe Tara's one of them?"  
  
"Well, maybe." Tara smiled hesitantly, her eyes flickering briefly towards Oz. "That redhead's pretty c-cute, even if she is t-taken already."  
  
Oz just raised an eyebrow, while Willow started giggling. She reached out, her hand resting over Tara's. "Tara… you can't just… you don't just go to a school because you think the people there look cute. Of course, what if everybody there looks cute? I mean, is there some sort of mutant cuteness factor or… umm, shutting up now."  
  
Tara smiled at Willow. "I know. But a place where I w-wouldn't be… Where it would be okay to be different sounds pretty g-good."  
  
"So, do they know who the mutants are?" Oz inquired, one hand tracing patterns on the carpet.  
  
"Not really. They apparently have a little bit of description, but no names or addresses. They mentioned a blond woman, or maybe two blond women, and a guy with dark hair in a Razorbacks letter jacket." Willow shook her head. "It's not a lot to go on, really."  
  
Oz just shook his head in agreement. "So… pizza?"  
  
"That sounds good. I can talk to Buffy and her cousin in the morning, and maybe… I don't know how long they'll be here." Tara was starting to relax.  
  
Willow glanced back and forth between her friend and her boyfriend, glad that Oz was so willing to help soothe Tara. "Well, now that we've defeated the papers and figured out a plan for trouble, we come to the big, tricky question. What do we order on the pizza?"  
  
End part 11. 


	6. parts 12 and 13

Buffy sighed, trying not to glance back at Scott as she walked through the rows of headstones at Our Lady of Peace cemetery. He'd insisted on going with her, but… well, he was a teacher, right? And while not all students would be that well behaved, how could teaching shop class at a private school get him ready for dealing with vampires and demons? If he got hurt, she'd be upset, and Jean would probably be upset, and then she'd never hear from him again.  
  
"Why, exactly, are we walking in a cemetery at nine thirty?" Scott sounded uneasy, and he was very carefully trying not to walk on any of the graves.  
  
"There's a couple graves of people that were killed by vampires. Sometimes, they're not just killed, but turned, so… I'm the Slayer, and they're the slayee. One of these days, I'm going to have Willow figure out a way to make maps of the cemeteries for me…" Buffy let the words trail away. She'd been saying the same thing for almost four years now, and she'd still never quite remembered to ask Willow for maps.  
  
"But you seem to be pretty sure where we're going." Scott sounded like he really wanted more answers.   
  
"All the funerals in this cemetery this year have been in the same corner. No reason why they would have changed yet, there's still room." Her voice wasn't so cheerful sounding. Probably because it hurt that there were so many funerals in Sunnydale, even with her trying so hard to keep things safe. "This cemetery still has rows to go… probably enough for another six or seven years."  
  
"Does Sunnydale have a lot of cemeteries?" There was a strange note of uncertainty in Scott's voice.  
  
"Yeah. I patrol through about six, there's the old county one that's full, although there's the occasional ritual out there, and umm… I think there's four… maybe five full ones around here. The death count… it's pretty high. Just one of the many charms of life over the Hellmouth." Buffy caught the note of bitterness in her voice, and winced.   
  
The grass rustled behind them.  
  
Her senses on alert, Buffy spun around, looking at the pair of vampires that had been trying to sneak up behind her and Scott. They seemed pretty unremarkable, just a pair of guys somewhere between her and Scott's ages, dressed pretty casually, but with sharp fangs and yellow eyes. Tensing, Buffy grabbed her stake, trying to figure out if there were any more vampires in the area.  
  
"I always did think dark hair looked good." The slightly shorter vampire spoke, his fangs distorting the words just a little. Then, pausing just long enough for a fang filled smile that seemed carefully calculated to make a victim freeze in panic, he lunged towards Scott.  
  
Shaking his head, the other vampire lunged towards Buffy. "You're too damn picky. Blood's blood."  
  
  
  
Buffy sidestepped, punching at the vampire's shoulder as he lunged through the place that she'd just been standing. She feinted left, and then stabbed at him with the stake, expecting an easy kill. Unfortunately, he was a bit brighter than she'd guessed, and he managed to twist away, his shirt tearing, but still rather undusted. Growling, he lunged forward, long fingernails slashing at her face.  
  
Buffy dropped into a roll, taking a moment to glance at Scott. He had a bruise forming on his jaw, and was scowling at the vampire, but looked mostly intact, not bleeding anywhere. She kicked up, catching her foe between the legs with a powerful kick. He flew over and into a tombstone, sort of curling inwards with a ragged hiss. Taking the opportunity, she bounced up and staked him through the back, putting him out of his misery.  
  
The other vampire snarled, turning towards her. "You killed Ted! Bitch!"  
  
As he leapt towards her, there was this weird sound, sort of between a hum and the crackling sound of an electrical current. That was when he was struck from behind by this red light, and for a moment, it was like an X-Ray, with every bone visible. He just crumbled into dust, falling to the ground.  
  
Scott was standing there, one hand touching the side of his temple. His sunglasses almost looked like they were glowing for a moment, but the light faded. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Yeah…" Buffy looked at him, entirely convinced that the light had somehow come from Scott. "Thanks. So, what was that about sensitive eyes?"  
  
He smiled a little, wincing as it moved the rapidly forming bruise. "It's complicated. The short version is that they help me control my mutation. And Jean thinks they looks good, which helps some."  
  
"So, that whole uncontrolled mutant powers thing is just a gimmick to get the cool shades? Sneaky, Slim. Very sneaky." Buffy looped her arm through his, grinning as she continued towards the new graves. "I knew you couldn't have changed completely."  
  
"I do need something. It has to be made from this special material, but… well, I can pick the shape of it. You should have seen the first pair I had… they were hideous. Effective, but… ugggh." Scott shook his head, his free hand adjusting the fit of his glasses just a little.  
  
"That did look pretty handy though. Just… zap and poof! All gone." She smiled, wishing things could always be that easy.  
  
Scott sort of shrugged. "The Professor thinks that my body stores and converts solar energy. Then, it gets released as, well... sort of a red beam. It can do some pretty bad things to walls."  
  
"Oooh, sunshine? Now that's nice. Vamps have problems with sunlight to begin with. Comes with the teeth, I guess. No wonder he went all dusty." Buffy felt like skipping. Her cousin could just… zap away the vampires. All she had to do now was hope they didn't run into any demons.  
  
End part 12.  
  
Buffy woke up, gripped with the sudden certainty that somebody was in her house. Well, technically, it was her mom's house and mortgage payment, but that wasn't the point. Someone was here, and they were… making coffee? Why would someone break into her house to make coffee? Why hadn't she heard someone breaking into her house? Was that pancakes she smelled?  
  
Lurching down the stairs, she looked around, noticing that there were lights on in the living room and the kitchen. Nothing looked broken, and everything seemed to still be here as far as she could tell. The coffee-maker gurgled, and she could hear something sizzling, as well as muffled voices.  
  
"We don't want to wake them up."  
  
"Coffee. Pretty much wakes you up." That voice was deeper, tantalizingly familiar.  
  
"Hush. And how many pancakes do you want? I think the syrups over there." A woman's voice, also incredibly familiar, if she could just place it…  
  
"Milk? Sugar?" The male voice again.  
  
Buffy swung the door open, muscles tense in preparation for a fight. Instead, she saw Willow, Tara and Oz in her kitchen, with pancakes on the griddle and coffee brewing. Oz held three mugs in his hand, and looked at her, with one eyebrow raised.  
  
"I'll get another mug." He set the three mugs on the table, and returned to the cupboard.  
  
"umm…. Explanations? Somebody?" She looked around, blankly. There had to be a reason why they were in her kitchen at barely seven in the morning, but she had no idea what that reason could possibly be.  
  
"Here. This should help." Oz handed her a mug of coffee.  
  
Tara frowned, pulling the maple syrup from the shelf. "I d-didn't think they'd be up yet."  
  
"We wanted to talk to you and Scott and Jean. Maybe needed to talk to them would be more appropriate. We're pretty sure that one of the people that they're looking for is Tara, and she's been worried about a few other things, and she sort of wanted to figure out when they'd be leaving and ask about the school." The words spilled from Willow, almost too fast for Buffy to decipher.  
  
Holding up one hand, she frowned as she tried to sort it out. "Tara's a mutant? You came here at way too early in the morning to tell me that? Why? What's the rush?"  
  
"M-my family wants me to g-go b-back." Tara seemed nervous, her stammer a lot more severe, and her hand shaking as she held a plate out for a pancake. "I d-don't want t-to go."  
  
"I thought you were a witch?" Buffy sipped at the coffee, trying to make sense out of what was going on. She'd thought it would take a while, but if one of the three was Tara…  
  
"I am. It's s-something I learned f-from my m-mother. B-but there's also the v-visions." Tara sort of ducked her head, as if trying to hide behind her hair.  
  
"Can you be both?" The idea was new to Buffy. Weren't you just one thing?  
  
"I don't see why she couldn't." Willow sounded calm. "I mean, mutation's genetic, sort of like you having hazel eyes and me having freckles. But magic is learned, like calculus. So, you're born with hazel eyes, and you learn calculus… where's the conflict?"  
  
"Magic is easier than calculus." Tara offered with a small smile.  
  
"Okay. You're a witchy mutant. What's the big with your family though? I don't get it." Buffy sat down, still holding the coffee. Maybe someone would give her some pancakes also?  
  
"They're… bad people." Tara's voice was barely more than a whisper. "They… they t-told me that I had demon blood, that I had to be k-kept in my p-place."  
  
"Demon blood? But… hello, Slayer here. I would have known if you carried any sort of nasty demony vibe." Buffy shook her head, trying to make sense of it. But then, if a lie worked to frighten someone, why bother with figuring out the truth? "But where would the idea have come from?"  
  
"Because I c-can see things. L-like my mother could. So they said I got it from her, that there was the demon taint." Tara was trembling.  
  
Buffy was trying to figure out how to respond to that when she heard someone stumble on the stairs, followed by half muffled cursing. Apparently Scott was moving, just not very well yet.  
  
"Best give him coffee, otherwise he might hurt himself by accident." Jean's voice carried easily, filled with the laughter of a morning person.  
  
Oz had a cup ready by the time Scott staggered into the table. Between Willow and Tara, there were now pancakes for everyone, causing Buffy and Jean to smile. For a few minutes, there was only the clink of silverware, the dull thud of mugs on the table, and the muted sounds of swallowing.  
  
"Scott, Jean… since you two are the local experts now, what happens with… say, the child of a mutant? Do they inherit the mutation?" Buffy tried not to look at Tara, but had the feeling that she'd failed.  
  
"That's… not something that we've been able to study very much. There aren't very many second generation mutants yet, at least…" Jean paused, as if she was measuring her words. "Not that we know about. But a lot of mutants try to hide the fact that they're different."  
  
"How l-long ago was the first m-mutant?" Tara's question was nervous, filled with worry.  
  
"Magneto's one of the oldest that we know about. But… there are stories… rumors. There could be older mutants, or there could have been earlier mutants. We've met at least one, possibly two mutants who have healing factors that make determining their age impossible. And there's a shape shifter… who knows how old she is, or how long she's been impersonating different people?" Jean shook her head, waving her finger over her second coffee as milk and sugar stirred itself in.  
  
Tara's mug slipped from her fingers, spilling over the table. "A shape shifter? Who does she… can she look like… anyone? Like you, or me?"  
  
"Mystique can take a lot of shapes. She's impersonated… a good number of the adults at our school, one of the students, and we suspect that she's impersonated government officials, although we can't be absolutely certain." Scott's voice held a hard edge.  
  
Tara ignored the spreading coffee, looking at Jean as if she held the secret to everything. "A shape shifter… is she… D-does she have blue scales?"  
  
"Yes." Scott and Jean spoke at the same moment, and then glanced at each other, a glance that may have been far more than simply eye contact.  
  
"I think she was at my grandmother's house." Tara's voice was almost inaudible, and she swayed a little, abruptly sitting down in a chair as she trembled. "I think she was there… I think… I think she looked like me once. I keep… I've had nightmares for years about seeing myself sprout blue scales and my hair turned red, or watching myself doing things that I know I didn't do…"  
  
"But… why would Mystique be interested in your grandmother?" Scott sounded utterly baffled. "Where is your grandmother now?"  
  
"Plot two thirty nine of the Little Ridge cemetery. She died about eight years ago." Tara seemed to realize the coffee had spilled, and was searching for something. Smiling, she accepted a wad of paper towels from Willow. "I think she had the v-visions too."  
  
"Visions?" What sort of visions?" Scott sounded even more confused now.  
  
"Glimpses of elsewhere. Things that happened y-years ago, or that haven't happened yet. Things that might not happen." Tara sighed, looking at the empty cup. "Gran passed them to Momma, and Momma... she gave them to me."  
  
"Precognition? Clairvoyance? Is it… can you control them?" Jean sounded intrigued. "Does it require contact with another mind?"  
  
"The f-future, now… any time. Momma and Gran could control them… I'm not as good." Tara shrugged, letting her hair fall over her face again. "What does another m-mind have to do with seeing a place?"  
  
End part 13. 


	7. parts 14 to 16

Slowly, the shadow proceeded down the brightly lit hallway. The man casting it was walking down the hall with a clipboard, scratching a few notes with his left hand as he examined the strange and inhuman looking beings held captive in the depths of the Initiative base. Creatures with scales or leathery hides, and some with fur. Muscular shapes with fangs, claws, and horns.  
  
Some of them snarled at the figure, a few of them stupid enough to lunge at him, trying to attack through the electrified barrier, only to be jolted by the electricity. The man in the camouflage didn't seem to notice. He likewise ignored threats snarled by several of the vampires held prisoner, although he did pause and take a long look at the one identified as Hostile Seventeen, who sat there, glaring at the wall with cold blue eyes.  
  
Looking at the angry form of Hostile Seventeen, the man spoke. "This won't do at all."  
  
Then, he continued along the brightly lit corridor, the pen scratching angrily against the paper. He paused once more, staring at the still sedated bulk of an unidentified creature with a reddish mane of hair and sharp talons that had been brought in by a pair of teams the day before. They'd had to stun the large humanoid heavily, and the creature had still fought them, leaving all seven men currently under medical treatment for deep claw wounds and bruising. One of them still hadn't woke up.  
  
Slowly, a cold smile formed on the face, an expression that would have shocked anybody who saw him. "Sabertooth. I'd wondered where you went."  
  
Still holding the clipboard, he walked out of the containment area, mind busily working on a plan. He passed several other men in the same sort of camouflage, absently nodding in response to their greetings of "Finn."  
  
He paid no attention to the quiet soldier with the blue eyes who just watched him go past. After all, most people paid little attention to Graham Miller until he spoke up. Unfortunately, Riley Finn wasn't usually one of that majority.  
  
******  
  
As they sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating pancakes, Joyce made her way into the kitchen, blinking at the gathered people. "Willow, Oz. And… umm, I don't think I've been introduced to you. What brings everyone here so early?"  
  
Willow smiled, pushing her plate away from her. "Hi Mrs. Summers. This is Tara, she's a friend of mine from college. We…. Had a bit of a problem that we needed to talk about."  
  
"Nothing too serious, I hope?" Joyce looked a bit worried.  
  
"It has to do with family, and college." Tara murmured. "And I wanted to ask Scott and Jean a couple questions about the school that they work at."  
  
"Ahh." Joyce nodded, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Just remember that even if your parents tell you otherwise, there are always scholarships, grants, and as a last resort, student loans. You don't really have to depend on your family putting you through college."  
  
"I'll remember." Tara smiled a little, looking down as she made strange swirls in the syrup on her plate.  
  
"Well, if you don't have any other plans, Why don't Scott, Buffy and I go to lunch, and spend some time catching up, and Jean can try to help Tara sort out those college questions?" Joyce smiled, looking around the table.  
  
"That sounds pretty good, aunt Joyce." Scott smiled, and then started to gather up some of the plates. "There's a lot of stuff to catch up on."  
  
Buffy rinsed her mug in the sink, and looked over at her mom. "I thought you were supposed to have a lunch meeting with one of your artists? Did that fall through?"  
  
"I tried to call him back and set up a time, but he didn't pick up. And he didn't call back." Joyce shook her head, apparently studying the peach polish on her thumbnail. "I suppose something must have come up."  
  
"This is Sunnydale. The odds of 'something coming up' that isn't bad… They're pretty small. Is there any other way that you can get in touch with this guy?" Buffy was frowning, her fingers tapping along the counter.  
  
"Buffy." Joyce sighed, rubbing at her temple. "I'm sure that Mr. Creed can take care of himself. It's probably something silly, like dropping his cell phone behind a dresser."  
  
Buffy's eyebrow raised, and she shook her head. "Mom… Never mind. Where are we going for lunch?"  
  
"Well, why don't we figure that out on the way?" Joyce picked up her car keys, pausing at the door.  
  
"Works for me." Buffy grabbed Scott's hand, tugging him towards the door. "I'll see the rest of you later."  
  
End part 14.  
  
Tara watched as Buffy left with her mom and her cousin. She tried not to feel jealous that Buffy had family that she wanted to spend time with, that her family had nice, decent safe people in it, instead of people that… No, don't think about it. Don't think about the attic and the endless lectures and the shame…  
  
"So, you can see other places?"  
  
"Wha…" Tara blinked, startled by Jean's question. "Yes. It's sort of like… well, have you ever read any fantasy books, or things on magic? Where a person looks into a bowl of water or a fire and sees someplace else? That's sort of how it works, if I'm trying to see something. Sometimes, if I focus on a specific place, I can see there, or on a person. Sometimes it just… I can't always control it."  
  
"I thought Raindrop or whatever her name is this week was just putting you to sleep." Willow's soft smile showed her opinion of that particular attendee at the Wicca group.  
  
Tara giggled, looking gratefully at Willow. "She is sort of boring. And there are all those comparisons between mythology and politics…"  
  
Oz leaned over, giving Willow a kiss on the cheek. "I have to go to practice. Take care of things?"  
  
"Sure." Willow smiled at him, her eyes getting this soft happy glow as he headed towards the door. "We'll be just fine, and I promise to tell you all about it later."  
  
Jean had a small frown, and rubbed her head. "Where did I put that headache medicine anyhow? It's interesting that you've figured out how to control them at all. Most of the students don't really have an idea when we find them, although a lot of them are younger."  
  
"My grandmother tried to teach me a little about how to see when I wanted, not just whenever. I never really thought about where she learned. Mom tried to teach me to not see. She said that it would make my father angry…" Tara let the words go as the memories tried to drown her, angry bellows and snarls of demon blood and evil ways. "He didn't like anything that wasn't normal."  
  
"Tara…" Jean looked worried, and reached her hand part of the way across the table. "You can go with us to Xavier's. It sounds like you could really use a place where your abilities aren't considered strange."  
  
Willow fidgeted in her seat, and then looked over at Jean. "umm… when you said that there were three mutants in Sunnydale, how recent was that information? I mean, could they have gone away on a trip, or maybe just been visiting the area, or… maybe died?"  
  
"The information was a couple weeks old. As near as… It was presumed that the mutants lived around here." Jean sighed, and pulled a small prescription bottle from her purse. "I don't think they would have moved, I'd hope they hadn't… In any other town, I'd think you were being paranoid asking if they could be dead. It's also possible, though unlikely, that another mutant could have come into the area."  
  
"Sunnydale has some scary things." Tara whispered. Her vision blurred, and there was this feeling of being trapped, sitting in a tiny room that was almost like a cell, separated from a bright hallway by a shimmer of glass, facing another cell that seemed held a green scaled fish man with webbed hands and sharp teeth. There were no windows anywhere. No! This wasn't the time for a vision, she didn't want to see, didn't want to look at some place holding a captive monster. Rubbing at her arms as she tried to blink away the vision, Tara repeated. "Scary things."  
  
"So, what are you studying at collage? We might have similar classes at Xavier's. They tend to be smaller, and we have quite the age range, but some people are ready for a certain class earlier than others." Jean looked at Tara, making a transparently clear effort to change the subject from death and monsters.  
  
"Life." Tara smiled, her hands clasped in front of her. "I don't have a major yet, or really much of an idea about one, I just… I really wanted to get away. And most of the interesting ones have prerequisites anyhow."  
  
"We can cover life. We can cover psychology, and biology, and we've got an unparalleled expert on weather patterns." Jean snickered a little, and then looked up. "So, do you have any suggestions for finding the other two mutants?"   
  
Tara leaned back in her chair, giggling a bit. "You really don't get sent looking for people too often, do you? How old are they?"  
  
Willow was also smiling. "You said the guy had a Sunnydale Razorbacks letter jacket. So, he's probably either an upper-classman in high school or a freshmen at college, like we are. He's probably going to be at the Bronze, unless he's out at lover's lane with someone. I can show you where the high school students are going right now. Umm… will you be able to recognize these people if you see them?"  
  
"Yes. I was given a telepathic image of them, and while it was fuzzy, that should be enough. If I listen, there's a slightly different feel to a mutant mind. Like…" Jean frowned, clearly searching for a description. "Like they think on a different musical chord from normal humans. If I find a dark haired guy in a Razorbacks coat, then if I listen and he's got the feel of a mutant, I know I've found him."  
  
"A different feel?" Tara blinked, wondering if there would be a difference in a mutant aura.   
  
"Yes. You have that different feel, Willow doesn't. Buffy… Buffy has a different chord, something that I've never encountered before. Maybe it's because she's a Slayer." Jean shuddered. "The things that she's been through…"  
  
"So, it would work best to look in the places where they would be. The Bronze is about the only club in town, it could be embarrassing to check lover's lane, you could look at the schools, but you might attract a bit of attention at the high school." Willow had a thoughtful look as she poured herself more coffee. "You might check the Espresso Pump, it's the local coffee house. Some of the poetry people hang out there. So, unless your sources could give a description and their favorite pastimes, you either hunt for them or hope that something brings them to your attention."  
  
"I think it would probably be safer to just bump into them." Jean had a small smile as she considered the options.  
  
End part 15.  
  
Buffy tried to relax as she walked through a park with Scott and her mom. It looked so different during the day, filled with pretty colors and… well, people. Living people that she didn't need to slay. Gradually, the smells of the flowers and the chirping birds and the laughing children soothed her Slayer senses, and she started to calm down and enjoy the morning.  
  
Until something occurred to her. "Mom, why were you going to have lunch with this artist anyhow?"  
  
"Buffy, your father and I are not getting back together."  
  
"I know that, you've been telling me since you got divorced. But that still doesn't explain why you and this… what, Creed? Why were you going to have lunch with him anyhow?" Buffy knew that she was being nosy. But if her mom was thinking about dating, there could be problems.  
  
"He asked me, and I thought that it would be nice." There was this oddly sweet smile on her face. "It's been a while since… Well, I thought it might be nice to try dating again. I don't want to be single and alone for the rest of my life."  
  
"Are you at least planning to be careful? What if he's another Ted?" Buffy had all sorts of horrible scenarios dancing through her mind. Another crazy robot, or a stalker like Moloch, or a complete basket case like Angelus… Or someone entirely dull and boring. "Dating in Sunnydale is never safe and easy."  
  
"Isn't it normally the mother lecturing her daughter about dating carefully instead of the other way around?" Scott was trying not to laugh.  
  
"Slim… this is Sunnydale, remember? My first boyfriend here turned out to be a homicidal vampire, there was the demon that became Willow's personal stalker… You don't even want to get into the dating history of… well, it's a mess. The freaky people outnumber the human ones, and even the humans weren't that normal." Buffy sighed, not really wanting to get into everything in the park.  
  
"I've seen him in the sunshine, and reflecting in a mirror, so he isn't a vampire. I don't have a handy metal detector, so he could still be a robot, but I doubt it." With a small snort, her mom continued. "What are the odds of me dating two robots anyhow? He asked me to have lunch, that's not the same as getting married or asking me to be the mother of his children."  
  
"And what if he wants you to be the mother of his demon spawn?" Buffy caught her mother's hand, panicking at the idea of a stepfather, any stepfather.  
  
Scott was trying not to laugh, and failed utterly. The chortles and gasps were rather infectious, and soon all of them were chuckling. Half collapsing onto a park bench, Scott gasped out "And what if he's just a mostly normal guy who… wait, is this the same guy who did those abstract splashy pictures?"  
  
"What does that have to do with anything?" She looked at Scott, eyes full of questions. "Yes, he is the one who made those abstract splashy pictures."  
  
"Do you really want to get involved with someone who makes things like that? There's this strong psychological theory that a person's art is a direct reflection of the state of their mind, so those abstract splashy things… What if he has a history of mental problems? What if he's a complete jerk?" Scott's voice was nervous, and his words came faster.  
  
"And what are you trying so hard not to say?" Joyce Summers had a small quirk at the corner of her mouth, one that said she knew something that they didn't.  
  
"How did you… Mom, you aren't a telepath, are you?" Buffy felt a tendril of unease, remembering that horrible episode, or what if her mom found out about Parker? Ohhh, she'd be horribly disappointed.  
  
"No, dear. I'm the mother of a teenage daughter who tried to hide things, and I was married to a man who didn't believe in telling me what he was thinking. I don't need to be a telepath to know that there's something else bothering Scott, and that you're worried sick that he'll be some dreadful thing that you have to Slay."  
  
"If you get involved with someone else…" Scott hesitated, and the words tugged themselves out reluctantly. "You were my aunt because you were married to Uncle Hank. If you find someone else, does that…"  
  
"Scott… You're family now. I can divorce Hank and keep my in-laws. You're still my nephew, even if I end up with a new husband and a couple little babies."  
  
"That's good to know." Scott was looking at his feet, as if embarrassed by his fears. "But I'm still not sure if I like the idea of you dating some guy named Creed that makes abstract swooshes."  
  
"His name is Vic." Joyce smiled, her eyes unfocused. "And… well, I was just hoping to see how things might go."  
  
"Vic Creed? There's something about that name." Scott shook his head, and pushed himself off of the bench. "So, what were we going to do for lunch?"  
  
"I suppose that depends on what the two of you feel like. There's a nice seafood restaurant near the beach, or a little Chinese place."  
  
"Seafood." Scott grinned. "And even better, I won't have too cook."  
  
"Or do the dishes." Buffy chimed in, excited by the idea. Even if her mom was maybe considering getting involved with some weird artist. Probably some sort of underfed guy with a ponytail and wire rimmed glasses. Or maybe a former football player? She might be able to deal with that. Maybe.  
  
"Fine, seafood it is."  
  
Smiling, Joyce took them to the little place that overlooked the beach. The interior was hung with torn nets and shells, and a couple sets of what Buffy assumed were shark jaws hung on the walls. The lighting was a bit dim, but the smells made her mouth water and stomach rumble.  
  
End part 16. 


	8. parts 17 and 18

Graham Miller frowned, trying to figure out what was wrong with Riley this morning. He was acting bit… off. Was he that upset from missing his almost date with Buffy? No, that didn't sound right, and if it was from missing his date, he'd be acting cranky, not acting so distracted. He'd been so distracted that he hadn't even waved or said 'good morning' or 'hello' or anything.  
  
It didn't feel right. Not at all.  
  
Casually, Graham walked down the hall that he'd seen Riley walking down. If he could catch up to him, talk to him in private, he could ask what was wrong. A clip board had been abandoned on a crate, and Graham picked it up. There was still a warmer patch, meaning that this had to have been only just put down – the one that Riley had been carrying? Glancing at it, he noticed that the top sheet of paper had been torn away, leaving part of the corner.  
  
Riley wouldn't have done that. Not unless he was in a big hurry, which he hadn't seemed to be at all. Riley Finn was too fanatical about precision and neatness. Graham's fingers trailed over the page as he walked down the hall, glimpsing one of the scientists stepping into the elevator, preparing to leave the complex. "Hey, is Riley Finn in there with you?"  
  
The scientist turned, a skinny guy with wild brown hair and startled eyes. "Wh-what? Finn? No. He's not in the elevator."  
  
Graham frowned, feeling on edge for some reason. "Thanks then… I'll catch up to him another time."  
  
Graham glanced around the hall, trying to figure out where Riley could be if he wasn't in the elevator. The only other things that caught his attention were a broom closet and a row of offices, which were supposed to be kept locked. Something wasn't quite adding up here. There were indentations on the top page, as if whoever had been writing had pressed hard. Graham hesitated, certain that something wasn't right and not sure what the explanation was.  
  
He tore off the top couple pages, tucking them into his shirt pocket as he made his way back to the main briefing area. He might as well put the clip board back. Maybe if he rubbed over the page, he could see what had been written? Groveling to Buffy, perhaps? More about that blond that had bent the steel door?  
  
Glancing around the room, Graham concluded that he'd just have to wait until later to learn what had been written. The briefing room was filled with uncomfortable chairs and advanced technology – there wasn't a pencil in sight. He'd have to go back to his dorm, or maybe the library.  
  
*******  
  
Tara had just sat there and sipped at a second cup of coffee while Willow asked Jean questions, trying to get as much information as possible about the three mutants that they were looking for. She asked about the way they'd been dressed, about coloration, if there had been any visible tattoos or piercings or distinctive scars, if Jean had any idea how old they were.  
  
As Willow jotted down the notes, she was forced to conclude that there was a down side to having a telepathic image of a person. There was no way to get a height comparison, only an idea of body proportion. Jean had only been given a still image, so it would be hard to determine how a person moved, what sort of body language they used. But Jean was now 'almost certain' that one of the mutants that they'd been sent to discover was Tara.  
  
That sort of felt weird, and a bit creepy. People had been sent across the country looking for her? It just seemed wrong somehow.  
  
The next person was a young man, either early college or late high school, with dark hair. He had a Sunnydale Razorbacks varsity jacket, and blue jeans. No apparent scars, tattoos or piercings, nothing other than the general look and either number twenty three or twenty eight on his jacket.  
  
Third on the list was someone with 'short blond hair, sort of spiky on the top' that wore leather boots and a leather jacket. Jean wasn't sure, but thought there was an eyebrow piercing.  
  
Willow and Tara were both at a loss for where she could be. Tara was certain that she didn't know anyone like that, though she'd probably avoid anyone that dressed like that if she had the option. Willow raised the suggestion of checking the records of the local juvenile detention and police files, and checking if there were Sunnydale yearbooks for the last couple years. All of which sort of hinged on the question of 'how long had she been in Sunnydale?'  
  
"It's too bad that you can't just ask your source if they're still here, or maybe for an address." Tara murmured.  
  
"I can't reach that far. I can't contact someone in New York while I'm in California... The distance is just too far." She sighed, rubbing at her temple in what could have been thought or pain, or maybe just an old habit. "It's too demanding to use the Cerebro unit to also try to use a phone, and the area prevents a cellular signal from reaching anyhow. I could call and get a general idea about whether they're still around or if they left, but... Maybe."  
  
"To change the topic, how do you know if a person has a mutation? Other than this mind touch chord that you mentioned? Assuming that they look normal, I mean." Willow asked, looking at Jean. "Are there tests, or particulars of body language, or... well, how do you know?"  
  
"Some mutants are obvious, like having blue scales or... well, one of the other students has a pair of big, feathery wings on his back, and he can fly. Or if a power isn't under control, that can be obvious. If there's a general wake of chaos or destruction, if a person is afraid to open their eyes or touch someone, if they just walk into a bonfire or through a wall..." Jean shook her head, a faint smile on her face. "The range of mutations are just fascinating. Of course, you can also run a detailed genetic analysis, and look for anything beyond the standard range of traits, but that takes a really good lab, several hours for processing, and a degree in human genetics to know what to look for."  
  
"Oh." Tara blinked, wondering just why she'd thought that it could be easy. "Somehow, I thought... considering all the fuss and worry, that there would be something easier. Faster."  
  
Chuckling, Jean shook her head. "Not until someone can develop a computer database of the entire human genome and it's variations and a program to compare a sample, or discovers some sort of mutants-only hormone. Neither of which seems likely in the near future."  
  
"And if someone did develop something like that, just think of all the ways that it could be misused."  
  
Willow's soft words sent goose-bumps down Tara's back. It really wasn't something that they could argue, a casual glance at human history would prove that humans could hate, could fear and destroy irrationally. She just couldn't help but think there was something more, some sort of... Well, it wasn't strong enough to be a vision, but it was more than a random fear. A rather undeniable bad feeling of the future. "Human mutant relations have a long way to go before things get better."  
  
end part 17.  
  
"Mom, are you really sure about this thing? I mean, this guy… he's an artist. And he can go out in the day. But what else do you really know about him? I mean…" Buffy paused, gesturing with one crab leg. "He could be dangerous."  
  
"I don't want to try to tell you what to do, but Buffy's right. What if this Creed guy is dangerous? If he's violent, or in debt up to his ears, or… something." Scott sighed, shaking his head. "This is not how I thought this trip would go."  
  
Joyce tried not to smile at them. "I think you're worrying too much. I'm not planning to run off to Vegas and get married. I'm not planning a nursery for a brood of love children. And I'm definitely not planning to co-sign any loans."  
  
"But Mom…" Buffy started.  
  
"No." She sighed, almost resting her face on her hand before remembering the buttery coating that had managed to get on her fingers. "I was thinking about lunch with him. Partly to find out if I even like him. We might not be able to stand each other. He might be as boring as a pet rock. But I wanted the chance to find out."  
  
"And if he's nothing but trouble?" Buffy tried to look worried, but there was something that hinted she just might be contemplating staking, or dismemberment.  
  
"You're worrying too much. If he's trouble, then I don't go to lunch with him again, or to dinner either. I'm quite old enough to have learned how to say 'No' to unwanted attention." Joyce chuckled a little bit. "Honestly, Buffy. You react like this, and then you wonder why I don't date anyone."  
  
"Mom! That's… that's not fair!" Buffy's protest was sputtering and feeble.  
  
Scott seemed to have a sudden coughing fit, possibly inspired by a fit of amusement and tact clashing horribly. What Joyce was certain of was the way he was nearly folded over, shoulders shaking as he coughed into his napkin.   
  
Joyce just shook her head, smiling at their antics. "Buffy, considering everything that happened to you in High School, I'd think that you'd be well aware that sometimes, life just isn't fair. Pointing that out really won't change things. I don't plan to rush into anything. Nor do I intend to become a nun. I'm not even Catholic."  
  
Eventually, they left the restaurant. By then, the topic had shifted from the apparently controversial topic of her own dating potential to Scott's dating history. Apparently, he'd met Jean when he was a teenager, and after what he'd described as 'a few false starts, a couple exotic ladies that he met though school, and a dose of jealousy induced courage', they'd started dating. Joyce had smiled, wondering if this jealousy had been from something serious, or the sort of silly fears and worries that happened so easily when you got all caught up in someone. She could remember those times. Buffy had declared it 'sweet' before getting this misty-angry-wistful look that meant she was thinking about Angel.  
  
A jeep roared past, kicking up a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. It was filled with four solid young men, probably about Scott's age, all dressed in camouflage and carrying guns. They seemed very worried looking about something.  
  
"Is there an army base near here?" Scott's question rose as soon as the dust and exhaust cloud died away.  
  
"It's out of town about twenty miles." Buffy muttered, waving her hand in front of her face.  
  
Joyce watched the jeep, frowning. Something about it didn't seem quite right, although she couldn't put her finger on what it was. "If they came from the base north of town, why were they going west in such a hurry? The base would be the other way along the road. There's no testing range, no missile stores… Not if the military and the state government are being honest with us."  
  
Buffy's fingers twitched as if she was gripping a stake. "Not unless the problem isn't a matter of missiles and bullets. There have been a couple times that I thought I saw some people in camouflage while I was on patrol. If those guys are the jeep guys, then…"  
  
Scott looked down the road, staring towards the small shape of the jeep. "If you saw them on patrol, what were they looking for? And what did they plan to do when they found it?"  
  
"Both of those sound like very good questions." Joyce murmured, her mind turning to all the stories that she'd heard over the years about government projects and experiments. Undoubtedly, most of those were utter nonsense, or the exaggerations of bad movies or nightmares. But even if ninety-nine out of a hundred of those rumors were nonsense, what about that hundredth one? She wasn't certain if she wanted to learn the answer.  
  
End part 18 


	9. parts 19 to 22

He didn't quite understand why she was here, but the scent of Mystique was lingering in the halls. Not her blood, and certainly nothing of fear, but she'd been here. What could possibly have brought her to this little town anyhow? Vic Creed had been trying to turn that over in a corner of his mind even as he inspected his cell. Poured concrete painted white, with a raised slab to serve as a bed and bench. A tiny ventilation shaft that not even a child could wiggle through. The doorway was wide, and blocked by some sort of transparent panel that had been electrified. There was another cell across the white tiled hallway, with something that was human sized and covered with shaggy brown fur. As he watched, the furry thing slammed into the barrier, arching and growling as the electricity jolted through his body.  
  
He hated high technology prisons.  
  
But it didn't quite feel right for a prison. He could smell vampires, and gun oil, and other people being held. They didn't smell human either. Somewhere, he could smell strong antiseptics and something else that he couldn't name but brought up images of doctors and surgery and pain. Was he in some sort of experimental facility?  
  
The idea sat badly inside. It made his insides clench and twist, and he could feel echoes of his memories stirring – the ones that something had ripped away. He had the feeling that he'd been in some sort of experimental facility before, back in the time of the blurry, angry memories.  
  
He didn't need this sort of complication. He'd been trying to just… do something normal. He come to the little coastal town because it wasn't in any of the major population centers, because it hadn't drawn attention about the mutant question. And because he'd been here once… no, twice before, with a woman that he'd dated for a while. She'd dragged him to a couple family holidays before they'd split up, and he'd felt… It had been like he'd fit in somewhere. They hadn't cared that he was very tall, or that his eyes were oddly dark. He'd just wanted some time to think.  
  
Then he'd found the art gallery. He'd heard somewhere, some time, that art could be used to express emotions, to deal with them. He'd started it a good number of years ago, before he'd met Magneto. Granted, he wasn't much for painting landscapes, or people, or cute fuzzy things, but… Well, it was more abstract. Sweeping colors and shapes, like trying to give color and shape to emotions. Pictures of rage, and frustration, and confusion. He'd wandered around, looking at the twisted wire statuettes, the neo-classical style paintings, and wondered when he'd learned all the artistic terms and references.  
  
He'd ended up grumbling that one of the paintings had no feeling in it, and that had led to the pretty blond that he'd been talking to asking if he had ever tried art himself. When he'd sheepishly admitted that he had, she'd mentioned that if he had things available, she could set up a showing of his work. Yeah, the pretty blond, Joyce, owned the gallery.  
  
Growling, he remembered that she'd wanted to meet for lunch this weekend. That plan was probably shot to pieces by this capture and imprisonment thing. Even the fact that he'd taken a good number of the soldiers down with him didn't quite make him happy. Couldn't a guy take a bit of time off from everything without getting dragged and electrocuted back into the middle of a mess?  
  
He'd started pacing back and forth in the little cell, wondering exactly how to get out of this. Footsteps echoed down the hall, firm steps with a military heel. The man that walked down the hall looked like he could have stepped off a recruiting poster: short blond hair, square chin, solid muscles, decent height. But something about him… Was that a hint of Mystique under that aftershave?  
  
Anticipation surged as he realized that the soldier that might or might not have been Mystique was carrying a keycard. "Hello soldier…"  
  
There was barely a flicker of the eyes towards him as the figure walked past, and not even the smallest twitch of the facial muscles. More than anything else, that convinced Vic that something about this soldier wasn't right. Granted, people's reactions to him varied, but there should have been some sort of reaction, not that complete blankness.  
  
He could hear the footsteps continue in a steady, even pace to the end of the hall. There was a pause, and then a soft swishing sound followed by an electronic sounding beep. In the next moment, the lights dimmed slightly, and the faint crackling noise that warned of the electrified barriers fell silent. There was a soft click as a door was unlatched and opened, and the footsteps retreated, softening far more than mere distance should have.  
  
The next moment was silent, and then there was the thudding noise of a body hitting the barrier from the left, closer to the door. There was no crackle, no screams of electrically induced pain. In the next few heartbeats, utter pandemonium broke out. Bodies slammed into the barriers, and there was the sound of glass shattering, falling to the tile and concrete. Scents of dozens of newly freed creatures filled the air, mingled with scents of their blood from the tiny cuts and slashes where they'd broken the glass.   
  
There had been a rush for the open door, and a slightly smaller one back the other direction. Escape had beckoned, and they'd answered in a roaring rush and frustration and anger and fear. Get out now, foil the plans to do… whatever to them.  
  
He'd had to fight his way out through a crowd of soldiers, some of them armed with those tazers, and others with more typical guns. He and several other now freed creatures also charging towards the hallway that smelled of car exhaust and fresh air, and they'd just charged through. He'd ignored the bullets, and had just swatted the soldiers out of his way. He hadn't even been trying to kill any of them, though it wouldn't bother him if they did die. He had to get out, he couldn't be experimented on again...  
  
Vic staggered into the fresh air, running more on determination and rage than anything else. Blood ran from dozens of bullet wounds over his body, and there had still been stiffness and a slightly grogginess from the way he'd been half electrocuted into unconsciousness. Lurching onwards, he tried to put as much distance as he could between himself and that place.  
  
Eventually, he collapsed onto grass, his vision blurred and head feeling as if it had been stuffed with twitching cotton. A set of swings loomed to his left. Must be a park…  
  
End part 19.  
  
Xander hated his current job. Oh, back about six years, he would have thought it was great – drive an ice cream truck. Haul ice cream all over town for people to buy. It sounded good – to someone who wasn't driving the truck. But there was the stupid uniform, and the fact that the truck handled like a barge, and that he'd had no idea just how obnoxious kids could – wait, he'd known that one. Granted, he was probably the only person open minded – or stupid – enough to take it into some of the sections of town where the less human types lived. Hey, if something with scales and horns wanted a lemon Popsicle or an orange push-up, that was just fine.  
  
He was walking back towards his house, cursing the fact that his old car, which had been Uncle Rory's for a good fifteen years, was currently getting a bit of body work done as an unavoidable result of a pair of demons. Walking in Sunnydale could be dangerous, even if it wasn't quite sunset.  
  
Speaking of dangerous, what was that in the park? There was a bulk on the ground, half hidden by the shadow from the big oak tree. Was it a victim of one of the many reasons that Sunnydale wasn't safe? Something lying in wait for little kids? Some great big piece of trash that had blown in… nah.  
  
And why was he walking towards it anyhow? Right, because he had picked up some demented hero complex. Because it might be someone in trouble. Because he had nothing better to do. "Xander, you idiot. This is dumb."  
  
He still walked over, footsteps becoming a lot more cautious when he realized that the big mass was a very large humanoid body. He looked like he had to be about seven feet tall, give or take a few inches, and just huge with muscle. Reddish hair fell in a mess, stained darker by some of the blood that was also smeared all over the body… Not quite a dead body, he was still breathing.  
  
Something about him seemed familiar.  
  
Xander knelt down, trying to check the pulse of the fallen man. He was also trying to figure out where he thought he'd seen this person before, and what had been going on.  
  
"Alex…?" There was just a hint of a rumbling voice from the man.  
  
That was just enough to make everything click into place for him. This was Vic, one of the many ex boyfriends of his aunt Sue. Yeah, he was big, and strong, and got into fights, but he'd never seemed too terrible, considering. Considering the drug-using, drunken, scary freaks that Sue had also dated, that is.  
  
"It's Xander." He was relieved to find a steady pulse. So Vic hadn't been turned into a vampire, and wasn't some sort of weird zombie – both of which were very possible in Sunnydale. But there was so much blood… "We've got to get you out of here. Maybe the hospital?"  
  
"No hospitals." The voice was still pretty weak, but he was insistent on that. It sort of reminded Xander of Willow's resolve face, but a lot deeper. "I just need… need time. I'll get better on my own."  
  
For a moment, Xander wondered what he could do. But this was Sunnydale, strange was practically normal. And he couldn't just let somebody stay out as vampire bait. There was no way that someone who was covered in blood would be safe once the sun set. He just hoped that he wasn't going to be sorry about this. And that the laundry soap was really as good at getting rid of stains as it claimed, because this was going to make an absolute mess out of his uniform.  
  
Reaching for one blood smeared arm, Xander tried to start the upwards movement of Vic. "You're going to have to help me out here. I'm a lot stronger than I was last time you hit Sunnydale, but I can't carry you."  
  
It didn't take much convincing, but it did take several false starts and some staggering before Xander was able to get Vic up from the ground and sort of standing. Well, more like leaning heavily on Xander's shoulder, but they could move towards the Harris house anyhow. They staggered onwards, Vic staggering from his injuries, and Xander staggering from the sheer weight of Vic.  
  
"How's… everyone?"  
  
The question startled Xander, and for a moment, he wasn't sure what to say. "umm… Sue's in rehab again, Uncle Rory's going bald but pretty much the same, Jack's overseas again. Dad's… about the same, but grayer, and mom's working at the local hospital as an emergency room nurse."  
  
"huh." There was a pause, and then another question. "What about your friends? That redhead, and the boy… Jesse?"  
  
Xander reminded himself that there was no way for him to have known. "Jesse's dead now. He got killed a couple years ago. Willow's doing pretty good, started college this year and everything."  
  
The rest of the trip was in relative quiet. It wasn't terribly far in distance, but it seemed to take forever, the sun starting to slide beneath the horizon as Xander fumbled for his keys to open the door. "Got to get inside before dark."  
  
"What happens at dark?" The question sounded half curious, and half… half as if it was an effort to stay awake, to stay focused.  
  
"That's when the vampires come out. All this blood…. No way they'd leave us alone." Xander shook his head, wondering if Vic was going to start thinking that he was crazy now. Then again, he had dated aunt Sue, so he couldn't be that concerned with sanity.  
  
"Vampires… the least of the problems out there." Vic's voice had a hint of growl too it.  
  
For a moment, Xander felt alarm. That growl… it hadn't been a very human noise. But… Vic was hurt, and tired. Clearly, something had done a number on him, something involving guns. And what if there was something else out there, something…weird and dangerous and hostile?  
  
Actually, this was Sunnydale. It wasn't 'is there something weird out there?', but 'what weird thing is out there now?' Shaking his head, he led him into the kitchen, figuring that those chairs were the least likely to get stained up. "Time to get those injuries cleaned up. Too bad there's nothing for you to change into, but I don't know of anybody in the area that wears the same size as you."  
  
Vic made a sound, something that started as a snort of laugher, and turned into a horrible hacking couch, as if he was trying to remove his lungs. He kept coughing, and started to cough out little dark bits, things that sort of reminded Xander of half dried blood.  
  
"Are you dying there?" The question sounded horrible. He knew it even as it came out. But the coughing seemed to be shaking Vic's whole body, and he was coughing up old blood… It definitely didn't look or sound healthy.  
  
"No." His voice was weak again, but he slowly pulled himself back upright. His fingernails seemed awfully long and dark and sharp. "I hate getting lung-shot. Coughing the blood out is miserable."  
  
Blinking, Xander decided not to think right now about the freaky weirdness of it. "Uhh. First, we should get that blood off of you, and the table. Then maybe you can give me a few answers?"  
  
"Depends on the question." Vic didn't sound like he was objecting to the idea, but it was pretty clear that he wouldn't just talk about everything.  
  
"Fair enough, I guess." Xander shook his head and started some warm water running into a tub while he got the first aid kit down from above the refrigerator.  
  
End part 20.  
  
Buffy hadn't liked the idea of those soldiers being in such a hurry. It gave her this weird feeling, like the ground under her was shifting, almost like that feeling before an earthquake, except that it wasn't really the ground, but the mystical whats-it that she could feel from being a Slayer. It left her the feeling that she should probably go on a patrol, just to look for weirdness, because there was obviously something going on.  
  
"Mom? I think… I think I'm going to need to do a patrol. Can you take us back to the house so I can change and pick up some heavier weapons?" Buffy asked, not wanting to ruin yet another good outfit while slaying.  
  
Her mom had been looking off down the road, where the jeep had been. It took her a few moments before she seemed to react to Buffy's words, and she seemed rather distracted. "Heavier weapons? More than just the stakes in the car? Do you… yes, I suppose that makes sense. Try to be careful, please?"  
  
Buffy blinked, not having realized that her mom had known about the stakes in the car, tucked under the passenger seat. "Sure, Mom. I'll be as careful as I can, considering."  
  
Scott turned to face her, not quite hiding the frown on his face. "Buffy…I know that you've been doing this for a while. But… This just feels… I can't explain it, but something doesn't seem quite right. Like there's something very big brewing where we can't see it. I think it might be good if I go on patrol with you."  
  
"Your feeling seems to match pretty good with my feeling, so that sounds like a good plan. But you might want to change out of the nice shirt so it doesn't get ruined." Buffy smiled a little.  
  
When they got back, Buffy learned that Willow and Tara had left, muttering something about showers, clean clothing, and the Dingos having a performance tonight. Jean was on the phone, apparently talking to a Professor about something. Shaking her head, Buffy decided to get changed for patrol, and ask Scott about it later. Something old enough that she wouldn't care if it got stained, sturdy enough to offer some protection, and weapons. Buffy wanted to have plenty of weapons tonight. A couple knives – one steel, one with enough silver to get the nasties that were allergic to it, a crossbow with plenty of spare bolts, a couple good stakes… She debated bringing along an axe, but decided that the whole stealthy patrol thing would probably not work too well if she rattled when she walked. She did decide to swap the steel knife for a sword though, just in case she needed the extra reach.  
  
"Hey, Scott, did you want any weapons to take along, or are you good without?" Buffy called, wanting to make sure Scott knew the option was available.  
  
"Thanks, but I'm good without. I'm not particularly good with any, so it's probably best not to have them." Scott came out of the spare room, wearing what almost looked like a uniform made out of black leather. He'd also swapped the red sunglasses for a visor that almost looked like it was glowing. "But maybe a stake wouldn't hurt, just in case."  
  
Shaking her head to dismiss the idea, Buffy handed him a stake. "Right, let's get going. The sooner we get out there, the sooner we might get a clue, and then we go talk to Giles. Oh! Mom, did Willow ever get that book to Giles? You know, the really old one that couldn't go FedEx?"  
  
"I think she did." Joyce shook her head, one hand holding a file card. "You two be careful, and take your cell phone, just in case."  
  
A few moments later, Buffy and Scott were on their way. Scott had debated asking Jean to join them, but it had sounded as if she was in the middle of something important in her conversation. And Scott had said that it could be very important to let them finish whatever they were talking about, and she could always find them later if she wanted in on the patrolling.  
  
Buffy led the way to the nearest graveyard, figuring they could start there, and move on, or divert towards the warehouses or the ritually areas if something felt suspicious. It bothered her that she was so certain that something was up, and entirely without a clue what it was or where to look. No weird and annoying prophecies, no cryptic clues, no rumors from Willies… Nothing.  
  
Well, lots of minions. The cemeteries were just crawling with minions, and some of the more nuisance sort of demons. Nothing really worth calling Giles over individually, but… "That's the sixth slime demons tonight. I can normally go a couple weeks without having to slay even one. And there was that Fyarl that got away, and those little yellow things that we got in the last cemetery, and dozens of minions. Dozens!"  
  
"So you're telling me that tonight's not going normally." Scott spared a half smile, and frowned again at some of the slime on his leg. "Is this stuff corrosive?"  
  
"It stains, and it really stings if it gets into a cut, but that's about it. And no, this isn't normal. The other night was more normal. Maybe one or two demons, a handful of vampires… that's normal. This? This is seriously freaky." Buffy sighed, and tried to wipe her sword clean on a shrub.  
  
"Call Giles then. Tell him that something's stirred up the vampires. If this is so much busier, then something has to have provoked it. It's like… something's kicked open the anthill." Scott frowned, his whole body tense. And the visor was definitely glowing.   
  
"Yeah, but what did the kicking?" Buffy asked, before pulling out the cell phone and pushing her speed dial. "Yeah, Giles? I'm on patrol – things are really busy tonight.  
  
"No idea why. You didn't mention any prophecies or night of let's get out and kill things, but… Six slime demons, there was a Fyarl, a pack of those yellow things that sounded like danishes, and dozens of minions. I kid you not."  
  
Shoulders slumping, Buffy sighed. "Yeah, I'm being careful. No, I haven't seen anything to explain it, but I'll keep looking. Later, then, and I'll call if we learn anything useful or weird."  
  
Scott suddenly tensed, looking to the right. "Buffy? I think… I thought I heard something moving over there, behind those bushes. What are the odds that it's just a stray dog or late night jogger?"  
  
Buffy tucked the cell phone away, and readied the sword in one hand, a stake in the other. "Normally, they're pretty low. Tonight, I'd say just about impossible."  
  
"Right." Scott nodded, as if her answer was about what he'd already figured, and they started moving towards the shrubs, both ready for a fight.  
  
Buffy certainly hadn't been expecting a trio of guys in camouflage, armed with some sort of high tech looking guns. She certainly hadn't expected one of them to be "Riley Finn?"  
  
Riley was here, walking around in soldier get up. He'd stood her up to go out and stalk the woods with his pals? Scowling, Buffy tried to resist the urge to punch him. "You'd better have a good explanation."  
  
Riley and both of his friends were looking very surprised. Apparently, whatever they were expecting was something other than Buffy and Scott. One of them leaned over and nudged Riley. "She looks almost as annoyed as the Doctor did."  
  
"Umm… I can explain this." Riley looked as if he'd almost rather be anywhere but right here, right now.  
  
Buffy tucked the stake back into her pocket, and folded her arms, still holding the sword, as she waited for Riley's explanation. She just hoped that it was a good one. Just what was he doing running around in… Running around in camouflage while she was on patrol. Riley was one of the camouflage guys. This could be very bad.  
  
End part 21.  
  
Willow had been flipping through her Psychology book, wondering why Professor Walsh seemed to make everything sound so complicated and dull. Psychology was a dynamic, evolving discipline, the study of people and how they thought. It wasn't supposed to be all about memorizing theories and remembering dates and places. Her mom could make psychology…w ell, maybe her mom couldn't make it more interesting, but certainly lot less about who'd developed what original theory when, and a lot less about Skinner and his behavioral modification studies. Walsh seemed to be rather fixated on that aspect of psychology anyhow.  
  
:Willow? I need to figure out where some people would be hiding. You know more about where people hide in Sunnydale…: Jean's voice was suddenly in her mind. :The Professor told me that in addition to the three mutants that we were looking for, Sabertooth and Mystique are in Sunnydale. We'd already mentioned that Mystique is a shape shifter, and could be anywhere, looking like anyone. Sabertooth's a bit more conspicuous.:  
  
Willow gasped at the images that were suddenly in her mind. A huge man dressed in leather and animal skins, with dark eyes and sharp teeth. The smell of sweat and musk as he lifted her – no, not her, Jean- upwards. The reddish haired man standing beside Magneto, surrounded by police.  
  
She tried to sort out the images, unsettled by them just being there. She hadn't seen them with her eyes, hadn't scried for them, but they were there. And something about Sabertooth seemed…. She tried to imagine him dressed in faded jeans and a tight tee shirt, his hair pulled back by a bandanna. A huge motorcycle added itself, and Willow made a squeaking noise. Xander's aunt had dated Sabertooth? Hesitantly, she tried to focus her thoughts on Jean. :umm… Jean? Sabertooth… I think it's Vic Creed, a guy who used to date one of Xander's aunts. He came to a couple of their family functions a few years back… Maybe he just wanted to spend some time at the beach?:  
  
:Xander… have we met him yet? He has an aunt who dated Sabertooth?!?: The feeling of shock was thick enough to taste.  
  
:No, you haven't. And his aunt…. She's dated a lot of people. Some of them weren't very nice. Scary, loud, obnoxious perverted jerks… If he's out to cause trouble, he'll turn up. If not, concentrate on tracking down the guy and the other blond.: Willow wasn't certain if jean had heard her or not. She wasn't quite sure how this telepathy thing worked anyhow – maybe she could do a little research, see if Jean knew of some good papers about it…  
  
But even if Sabertooth wasn't here to cause trouble, that didn't explain why he was here. And it certainly didn't explain Mystique, unless the pair of them had showed up for some sort of relaxing romantic get away to the beach… Even if Sabertooth was a coincidence, he still added a layer of complication. Mystique added another. Could she be here as part of some sort of plot? Could one or both of them be also looking for one or all of those three local mutants to recruit? Did they have some sort of specific interest in something in Sunnydale?  
  
Wait… those splashy paintings in Joyce's gallery. Hadn't they been by a V. Creed? Could that be the same V. Creed? Was Vic Creed not only a huge, scary looking mutant, but also… an artist? The idea seemed a bit odd, and was certainly not what she'd expect from looking at him, but wasn't that part of the reason for the old saying 'you can't judge a book by it's cover'?  
  
Willow closed the psychology book, and started trying to sneak into the Sunnydale police records. If she could check and find out if there was a record for the other blond… or maybe she should check on the guy too, just in case. A letter jacket did not make a law-abiding citizen, after all. And if that didn't get anything, she'd try the juvenile detention center, which was actually and ironically harder to hack into than the police department's records. That had to say something about the Sunnydale police… Willow had the sneaking feeling that what it said was 'help'.  
  
As she skimmed through the pages of photographs, something stirred in her memory. Tara had said that Mystique had visited her grandmother once. But that raised the question – Why? Why would Mystique have visited a grandmother living quietly in a small town? Slowly, she started writing out the question and the few facts on another paper. Little Ridge – Wilhemina Adler – now deceased. Tara's Grandmother – clairvoyant/precognitive, hereditary. Connected to Mystique how? Thoughtfully, Willow circled the question 'how' and the word 'hereditary'. She had the feeling that they were connected.  
  
Eventually, Willow came to the conclusion that the Sunnydale police records were not helping her at all. Nothing useful from the Juvenile Detention Center, which was probably a good thing. So, she decided to try to figure out something about why Mystique might be interested in Tara's grandmother. Possibly also curious about Tara and her mother, if it was something hereditary. Slowly, she started her search effort. Tara McClay, daugher of John McClay and Ruth – maiden name Taggert, with an older brother named Donnie. Ruth was the daughter of Wilhemina Adler, who'd married and a few years afterwards divorced her husband, one Robert Taggert. Their marriage had produced two daughters, both of which had remained with Wilehemina. The other one had moved away, and Willow didn't quite feel up to tracking down Mary Taggert just now.  
  
But what about Wilhemina herself? Willow grinned at the discovery that the county records were computerized, and that some of them were accessible online. Births, deaths, marriages, back issues of the local newspaper… Yes. She found the death certificate for Wilhemina, and looked at it thoughtfully. Wilhemina Adler-Taggert, daughter of Irene Adler and Godfrey Norton, cause of death – heart failure.   
  
Something about the name Irene Adler seemed familiar to her, like she'd read it somewhere. Carefully, Willow typed the name into a search engine, and waited to see what it might come up with. The first few were unhelpful, just references to a character in a series of allegedly biographical stories about a detective in the Victorian era. Then, she found a few mentions that might connect. A woman called Irene Adler who was a stock advisor for an early New York businessman, complete with a photograph. The same woman later advising another industrialist, both of whom had prospered when she was there.  
  
She found another picture of Irene dancing at a club, and frowned. That couple just behind and to the left… the woman looked an awful lot like Drusilla. Surely it was just a coincidence, right? She started trying to put together a timeline for this Irene Adler, who was mentioned in one article as being a 'young widow from England', and as having a small daughter called 'Mina' with her.  
  
Slowly, a pattern emerged. Irene Adler had never sought deliberate attention, preferring to advise others and stay out of the main attention of the press. Her behavior was just perfectly balanced to be discreetly visible and effectively ignored. She never got caught unawares by sudden market shifts, and had weathered the changes in economy and politics skillfully. As if she'd somehow known what would happen before it happened. She'd also vanished from public sight in the forties, and the press had never quite bothered to look her back up. She was probably dead, but nobody was quite certain. It could all be coincidence and incredible amounts of luck, but Willow didn't think there was that much coincidence in the world. And she had the feeling that there had been something that Irene had been trying to avoid. But what could it have been?  
  
end part 22. 


	10. parts 23 and 24

"So, Riley, how can you explain this? Because it looks to me like you stood me up the other day, you didn't call, you didn't find me and explain, you're just..." Buffy gestured at the other camouflage clad men, her mind trying to figure out why they could really be out here. The camouflage could have been explained as paintball, maybe, but not with those weapons. "It looks like you're out hanging with your friends."  
  
"Who's he anyhow?" Riley gestured towards Scott, looking faintly jealous.  
  
"Nice try, but I want answers." Buffy glared at him, not quite ignoring the other man. "What's with the sci-fi guns, and why the camouflage? Not that it really blends here."  
  
"Paintball?" Riley offered weakly.  
  
"Sorry, but I'm not buying that."  
  
One of the other soldiers moved slightly, as if he was trying to get a better look at her without making any threatening moves. "Better spill, Finn. She's got a sword, and I think she knows how to use it."   
  
"If I said that there are dangerous things out at night, would you believe me?" Riley asked, his shoulders going back and slightly more tense.  
  
Buffy snorted, thinking over the past four years of her life. "Vampires, demons... I know that. I didn't know that you knew that, but I do know that they're out here. That's why I have a sword."  
  
"A sword... she's out hunting demons with a sword?" The same guy who'd advised Riley to explain muttered, his words almost too soft for Buffy to hear.  
  
"err... yeah." Riley looked flustered, as if he'd expected denial and maybe hysterics. "Well, there's a program... It's through the military, and they're aware of the dangers of hostile sub-terrestrials. It's our job to find, subdue and detain these... hostiles."  
  
"Does this have to do with a jeep full of guys in camouflage roaring through town earlier?" Scott asked, his main focus on the other guy, the one that Buffy thought might be Forrest.  
  
Scowling, Forrest nodded. "Yeah. Somehow, a group of hostiles escaped. There's several of us out to relocate and recapture the escapees."  
  
"Well, what type are they?" Buffy asked, wondering just how many 'escapees' they were trying not to talk about. And how did they get out from... wherever you were keeping them?"  
  
"Several vampires, but most of them were other things. We don't know what all of them were, and some of them are very dangerous." The words emerged from the third guy, and he was giving Buffy this oddly measuring look.  
  
"How could they just... escape?" Scott's question burst out, sounding almost angry.  
  
"I don't know!" Riley sounded angry and defensive. Buffy had the distinct feeling that someone had been demanding that same answer, or connected ones quite a lot.  
  
"They didn't just happen to escape." Forrest's tone was unhappy. "Someone let them out."  
  
"I wasn't even there!" Riley glared at his friend. "I was running a study session for the psych class."  
  
"Wait, someone let these... someone let the vampires out?" Scott sounded baffled. "Why on earth would anyone deliberately...?"  
  
"Do either of you have a pencil?" The question from the quiet man seemed out of place.  
  
Buffy just stared at him, wondering what he was thinking. "Now isn't really the time for emergency study sessions, or taking notes."  
  
"I think... look, do you have a pencil or not?" He asked, looking frustrated by something. "I've been looking for one all day, and nobody seems to use them anymore."  
  
Frowning, Buffy checked her jacket, finding a little stub of a pencil no longer than her palm. "Just this one. What's the big deal, got a major test coming up?"  
  
"There was... someone in the halls today. They'd been taking notes on a clipboard, but...." He shook his head, apparently not wanting to explain everything. "I want to see what they were writing."  
  
"Okay..." Buffy passed over the stub.  
  
He pulled a couple pages of paper from a pocket and began to rub the pencil lead over them, leaving a faint gray color over most of it, and rows of white markings standing out. They looked like Russian, and the slant was weird looking.  
  
"What was something like that doing at UC Sunnydale?" Buffy couldn't quite keep from asking. "And who was writing it?"  
  
"Left handed Russian..." He shook his head, a faint smile on his face. "That makes sense, it was an imposter. But how could he have gotten in there to begin with?"  
  
Buffy looked at him, wondering exactly what sort of sense this made to him. "And for the rest of us? Why does that make any sort of sense?"  
  
"The person who wrote this... They looked like they belonged, but the actions weren't quite right. And none of us would be writing left handed Russian. I don't think any of us even know enough Russian to take notes in the language. So, we had an imposter who somehow bypassed security, slipped in, enabled the escape, and got away." He shook his head a moment before continuing. "I just wish I knew how they got past all the security. There's voice and fingerprint recognition."  
  
Buffy blinked, a bad feeling forming in her stomach. "Scott? How good is that Mystique? Good enough to cover finger prints?"  
  
"Yeah. She's even managed to bypass retinal scanning." Scott swallowed hard. "Mystique let out the demons and vampires. But... I don't see what it would gain her."  
  
"She? The person that I saw was a man." He was frowning now, and glanced back at the paper before offering the pencil stub back to Buffy.  
  
"Mystique's a shape shifter." Scott's voice was low, full of questions and unhappiness. "She's also a mutant, and worked with Magneto. I just don't know what she would see as an advantage to something like that."  
  
"Unless it wasn't the escaped demons that were the goal." Buffy spoke slowly, worry filling her. "What if the whole point of releasing the demons was so that all of you soldiers would be out trying to catch them? It's a really effective diversion if the real goal is to try something at your base. Arrange for a swarm of little problems elsewhere..." Images of the library in disarray, of Giles kidnapped, of Kendra killed filled her mind, and Buffy tried to push the memories back.  
  
"I'd better radio the possibility back to Central. The idea that this could be a diversion..." Riley shuddered.  
  
"Better let me. You know that she's still pissed at you." Forrest spoke, pulling a radio from his belt.  
  
Looking at the quiet one, Buffy asked the question. "Was the person who was acting off... did they look like Riley?"  
  
The man in camouflage just nodded.  
  
Buffy groaned, certain that this was yet another effort at dating that had just been skewered and deflated. Her maybe boyfriend had been impersonated in order to let out a bunch of demons, and would probably be sent to military prison or somewhere that measured their annual rainfall in hand-fulls or in meters and monsoons. "What a mess."  
  
end part 23.  
  
Xander picked up the phone, not even needing to think about it as he dialed Willow's number. He had the feeling that Vic's explanations, however limited, would be complicated, and Willow was good at sorting out complicated. Once they figured out how Vic had ended up shot, still carrying bullets in him, and looking rather worse for wear, then… Well, they'd probably have to call Giles to figure out how to get rid of it.  
  
"Who're you calling?" Vic's deep rumble almost seemed to echo in the kitchen.  
  
"I'm calling Willow. Those answers… I have the feeling they add up to a complicated mess. She's better at sorting out complicated. And her hands don't shake as much, which would probably help with those other bullets." Xander tried to remain calm. He was helping Vic, he was safe, right? He decided to hold firm on that idea, regardless of the likelihood of it.  
  
:Hello?: Willow's voice had that distracted sound that he'd come to associate with homework and research.  
  
"My bestest friend in the whole world… I've got a bit of a situation here, and could use some help. Can you come over?" Xander asked, not wanting to go into any details over the phone.  
  
:Work situation, or… family? Or maybe one of those extracurricular things?: Willow's voice sounded tired, and he could hear the faint beep as her computer shut down.  
  
"Kind of family and extracurricular. It's important though." He hoped that's he'd just let her questions wait until she could get here. He didn't know how important timing was, but he did know that having the bullets in him couldn't be comfortable for Vic.  
  
:Okay, I can be there in maybe ten minutes? You can explain everything then, or at least, enough.: She sounded as if a break was welcome, which could only mean that her project was frustrating her.  
  
Xander wasn't certain if the time between the call and Willow's arrival dragged or flew. He just tried to clean the blood away from Vic, figuring that seeing the wounds clearly would be necessary to remove the bullets that were still there. Vic was mostly quiet, alternating drumming his fingers and claws against the table and another two of those horrible coughing fits.  
  
"Hey Xander, I'm here. I hope that you can…" Willow's voice called out, moving closer as she made her way in from the door. She paused in the kitchen doorway, staring at Vic, her eyes wide. "Oh my. What happened to him?"  
  
"I got captured, then I was shot while escaping. Can you get the other bullets out?" Vic's rumble sounded halfway to a growl.  
  
Xander half expected Willow to squeak and retreat, just from the sound of Vic. He looked at the tub, wincing at the red hue of the water. "I found him in the park. I couldn't just leave him there, not when it was getting dark out."  
  
Willow made a small noise, sort of like a hum, and moved closer. She was stepping lightly, her eyes watching Vic the whole time, wary, filled with questions. "Captured by who, or should it be what? Why did they grab you? Where did they keep you?"  
  
"Soldiers with stun guns, and real ones." He growled, his claws digging grooves into the table top. "The place was a cell, poured concrete, narrow vents, underground. I think Military, and I smelled hospital scents. As for why… how should I know?"  
  
"Are you a mutant, or a demon?" Willow's question was low, and her fingers skimmed over his back, circling around a dark place that had been a gaping hole, and probably still held a bullet. "And should we be asking which the soldier people thought that you were?"  
  
Xander shivered, disturbed and envious of the rapid healing. "If they had you… who or what else did they have? Vampires? Demons? Mutants?"  
  
"They had vampires. Other things to, but I couldn't identify those. I thought mutants, but… what's this about demons?" Vic glanced at Xander, fixing him with one dark eye.  
  
"Demons are real. As real as vampires, as real as mutants. Some of them are really nasty, out for the whole death, dismemberment and the end of the world. Others are… not so dangerous, and just kick back to watch Saturday football with a bowl of fish entrails." Xander shuddered, thinking about all the things they'd encountered. "We've run into a lot of the dangerous types."  
  
"Huh. That might explain some of the strange smells." Vic frowned, and muttered towards Willow. "You might as well just cut them out already, they itch."  
  
"I didn't think that you'd ever be back in Sunnydale. Not after you split up from Xander's aunt." Willow's voice was soft, and she opened her backpack, producing what looked remarkably like a scalpel. "It's not the sort of place most people come back to again and again."  
  
"I thought the ocean would be soothing." Vic grunted as Willow sliced open the dark spot. "And I ended up with… nnnn."  
  
"In English?" Xander asked, curious just what Vic had found to stay in Sunnydale for.  
  
"I've got an art exibit. Paintings." His voice was low, barely audible. "And I had… ouch! Leave the nerves there, damn it!"  
  
"sorry. It – the bullet - was pressing against it, I think." Willow's voice sounded shaken, and she had one hand held away with the scalpel as the other was held about an inch away from the wound, and had this faint golden haze around it.  
  
"And?" Xander prompted, not wanting to consider Willow magicking the bullets out of Vic.  
  
"I had a date. With the Gallery owner." He growled for a moment, just before the bullet emerged with a sucking sound. "A pretty blond, seemed sweet. That's probably shot to hell – how would I explain this anyhow?"  
  
Xander blinked, staring at Vic. The odds were just… It was such a huge coincidence. It sounded like he was talking about Buffy's mom. "A blond woman who owns the Gallery… Joyce Summers?"  
  
"Yeah." Vic smiled, looking almost distracted from the situation.  
  
"Well, that both weirds me out, and simplifies things. You get ahold of her, and if you still want to go out with her, tell her that it was something Hellmouthy, but you're okay now. Then, you figure out when you can do something." Xander shivered, finding the idea that Buffy's mom might date one of his almost-uncles just too weird.  
  
"Hellmouthy?" Vic looked unhappy, and seemed to concentrate on the word. "A Hellmouth… Tentacles with teeth? I can almost remember… no. It's gone."  
  
"Umm… one of those almost memories again? Should I take this to mean that maybe it wasn't some Vietnam complication like Sue claimed?" Xander blinked, wondering when and how Vic had encountered a Hellmouth. The description matched so scarily…  
  
"I can't remember where, but it was scientists. They did… something, and took my memories." The words were growled, and the table acquired a new set of gouges. Vic looked really unhappy about the whole situation.  
  
"So you ran into more scientists, working with highly armed men in camouflage. Maybe this is similar in some ways to what happened to you before." Willow had that tone that meant she was analyzing. "Something seems to have… really got to you about this. There, last bullet's out."  
  
"Good." For a moment, Vic almost smiled. "Ahhh…. Cell phone. How should I call her without the damn phone?"  
  
"Use the one here. Speed dial number three – Summers residence. She's got a daughter my age." Xander smiled. "Willow and I will just go let you talk to her in peace."  
  
End part 24. 


	11. parts 25 to 27

Joyce sat in the chair, paying no attention to the news program that was on the television. In her hand, a mug of cocoa was cooling, the marshmallows on the top slowly disintegrating into sticky goo. Her daughter was out hunting for vampires, and for answers, and Scott was out with her. She hadn't even seen her nephew in years, and now he was out chasing monsters with Buffy. She didn't like it at all. But Buffy had a destiny, and no matter how much she disliked it, she couldn't convince her to give it up. And the world seemed to need her little girl out there risking her life.  
  
Jean was in the other room, trying to figure out something about potential students for their school that seemed to involve maps of Sunnydale and online access to the back issues of the local newspaper. She seemed nice enough, if a bit focused on her work. Joyce wasn't entirely certain that Jean and Scott would do too well in the long run, but then again, if Scott's life was half as dangerous as Buffy's, he might not have a long run. She just hoped that they were happy together as long as they could be,  
  
The phone rang, drawing her attention away from her thoughts. For a moment, Joyce considered ignoring it, but… What if it was Scott or Buffy, in some sort of trouble? If it was something important, she'd be furious with herself for ignoring it, and she could easily hang up if it was just some salesman or survey. Sighing, she lifted the phone, listening for whoever was on the other end to speak.  
  
:Joyce?: A man's voice, deep and gravelly was on the line, and he sounded uncertain.  
  
Her mind placed the voice almost instantly, and she found herself smiling to hear Vic. "Yes. You were supposed to… I tried to call you, and didn't get an answer. What happened, Vic?"  
  
:It was messy, and complicated, and I don't have all the answers. Xander says that if I give you the short version as 'something hellmouthy' that it'll make sense.: Vic sounded as if he wasn't quite certain that he understood everything himself.  
  
"Are you alright? There are… A lot of dangerous things happen in Sunnydale." She didn't know what to say, and wondered what had happened and how bad it had been.  
  
:I've had better days. But there wasn't anything permanent, and I'll heal up just fine.: He paused, and Joyce almost thought she heard something about bullets and bloodstains. :Umm… Did you still want to try to have lunch together?:  
  
"Lunch?" Joyce smiled, leaning against the wall in a combination of relief and amazement. "After everything, whatever happened, you'd still like lunch? That sounds… pretty good, actually. How about Monday? We can meet at the gallery around eleven, there's this seafood restaurant that I know…"  
  
:Monday's good. So is seafood.: He sounded relieved, as if he'd expected everything to be ruined.  
  
"You can give me something slightly longer than 'something hellmouthy' over lunch." She was cradling the phone against her cheek with a smile, feeling better and almost younger. It had been so long since someone had wanted to go out with her, and if she left out the demented robot and Hank's drafting her to go to company events for appearance's sake, it had been even longer.  
  
:Over lunch… I guess that works.: It sounded as if Vic was smiling into the phone. :So, I'll meet you at the gallery at eleven on Monday?:  
  
"Monday. It's a date." Joyce felt giddy, and her mind started debating what to wear – she wanted to look nice, but not too eager. "I'm looking forward to it."  
  
She was still smiling as she hung up the hone, his slightly awkward 'goodbye' still echoing in her ears. She had a date… Hopefully everything would work out better than Ted. For that matter, hopefully better than things had ended with Hank.  
  
"What was all of that about?" Jean's question sounded almost amused. "You feel downright cheerful all of a sudden."  
  
"My date with Vic – the artist – is back on. Something came up, but we've rescheduled for Monday." Joyce smiled, touching a lock of her hair. "It's been a while since I've been on a date."  
  
"Are you certain that now's a good time? There's whatever stirred up the men in camouflage, and vampires…" Jean shook her head, touching her temple again. "I can't believe I'm in a place where talking about vampires doesn't refer to a book or one of the latest horror movies."  
  
"This is Sunnydale. There's always something, and if I try to wait for a good time to come up, I'll probably have some sort of injury or disaster come up as a result of something connecting to those vampires or demons. I might not have another chance for someone who's found out about strange things and isn't running screaming away." Joyce looked at Jean, wondering what kept giving her so many headaches. Scott had said that she was on a prescription painkiller for them… Hopefully it wasn't something too serious. "Is it time for your painkillers again?"  
  
"Not for another hour." Jean sighed, and glanced mournfully at the clock. "But maybe I could have some of the cocoa?"  
  
end part 25.  
  
"How do you know about the hostiles and what the intruder may have wanted?" Forrest's question held a trace of suspicion, and overlapped with Riley's question of "Who is this guy anyhow?"  
  
Buffy glanced up from the page, seeing the jealousy in Riley's face and questions and suspicion in Forrest. "This is Scott. He's my cousin, on my dad's side. As for the vampires and demons… It's my job to know."  
  
"What do you mean, your job?" Riley gasped, his eyes narrowing. "Monster Hunting 101 is not a freshmen class."  
  
Buffy sighed, knowing that this would change everything. Of course, it still seemed that Riley had a few things to explain as well, but… "Not because I'm a freshmen at the college. I'm the Slayer. One girl in all the world, destined to stand against the nasty things of the world… It's a lot less fun than it sounds. How about you guys? When did the government get into Slaying?"  
  
"Wait, this monster's boogey-man is you? Shouldn't the Slayer be taller? Bigger muscles or something?" Forrest looked utterly astonished.  
  
"But that can't be real!" Riley's protest was a feeble effort at denial. "A girl… woman can't just go toe to toe with the monsters."  
  
"The project that we're part of has been in existence for three years, and only recently spread into California." The quiet man answered, looking up from his page. "The officers in charge will neither confirm nor deny rumors of previous projects involving demons, vampires, or mutants. All three are under a similar legal classification of 'approach with extreme caution', and have been for at least the past thirty years."  
  
"uhh…" Buffy wasn't certain quite what to say about that answer. Somehow it just seemed to make the whole situation that much freakier.  
  
"How do you know what the official categorization of mutants is with the military?" Scott's voice was as hard and unyielding as concrete. There was a faint humming sound, and his visor was definitely glowing.  
  
"Graham, buddy, of all the times to feel chatty, this probably isn't the best." Forrest's hissed warning wasn't quite soft enough for Buffy to miss.  
  
"What I want to know… Is this why you didn't show up for that study session?" She looked at Riley, trying to put of the big questions of military involvement and official policy until she had a bit more time. At least this was better than a 'Happiness bad, Soul detachable' Clause like Angel had to deal with, right?  
  
"Big picture, Buffy." Scott's words still carried some of that same hardness, a tone that told her that whatever else there was about his school, he did a lot more than just teach shop class.  
  
"I'm starting with the little questions." Buffy shrugged, wondering how much Riley would know, and how much he'd share of what he did know. She'd also learned that if someone was honest about the small stuff, they were more likely to be honest about the big stuff. As a bonus, the more she got him thinking answer the question, the more likely he would be to answer the big stuff without realizing it.  
  
"There was a big meeting. Wa…" Riley stopped, visibly trying not to mention the name. "umm… Our commander was alarmed by something, and wanted all of the operatives to be alert for more information, and possible encounters with the… individual."  
  
"What individual?" Buffy felt a bit worried, and made certain that her grip on the sword was loose enough that she could fight if she needed to.  
  
"How does your associate know the classifications?" Scott repeated his question, facing the three of them, his whole body filled with tension.  
  
With a small shrug, the page was folded and returned to a pocket. "My father's in the military, he does records. He can tell you the categorization of just about anything, and what level of security rating you need for details."  
  
"Do you have those details?" Scott's question had a bit more intensity, less angry, but more as if this was somehow connected to somebody that he knew.  
  
"No." His face was calm as he stared into the visor, and the light shimmered as it reflected on his own eyes, and on his face.  
  
In that moment, Buffy realized something. Riley would probably talk some, with some efforts to hide certain things, like the name of their commander. Forrest probably wouldn't tell her anything, just because he didn't seem to like her. But Graham simply wouldn't talk, either because he was a soldier, or because he didn't think they should know. He would stand there and lie to her about knowing nothing with a straight face – or maybe he really didn't know anything. But she wouldn't be able to tell if he was hiding things or not.  
  
"Right, so you don't know any of those details." Buffy sighed, still pretty sure that Graham knew and just refused to say anything. "What's this incident you got called in to listen about? What happens if you do see this individual again?"  
  
"Something about a short blond woman fighting vampires." Forrest was smirking just a little. After a short pause, he continued. "There was also something about a steel door getting bent and ruined."  
  
"I told Giles that would cause a few problems." Buffy muttered. "But did he listen? Nooo…"  
  
"How do you know about the steel door?" Riley's question emerged slowly, as if he wasn't certain that he really wanted to know the answer.  
  
"I'm the Slayer. It's my destiny to go out fighting vampires, and I get the strength that I need to defeat them. And they completely ruined my favorite pair of jeans! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find just the right fit and get them perfectly comfortable?" Buffy asked.  
  
"That's why when we go hunting the Hostiles, it's in uniforms. That way, the real clothing doesn't get ruined." Forrest's voice held traces of amusement and sarcasm.  
  
"Buffy, what's this about a steel door?" Scott was frowning now, probably unhappy at this reminder of how dangerous her life could be.  
  
"What can you tell us about this… Mystique?" Graham's voice was calm, and seemed to cut through the chaotic questions.  
  
"Mystique is a shape-shifting mutant. We don't know how old she is, or where she was born. She was working with Magneto, when he was up to his… recent trouble. She can impersonate someone, look exactly like they do. It's good enough to duplicate fingerprints, retinal scans. She can't duplicate someone's powers, but she can look like you, move like you, sound like you." Scott shook his head, scowling.   
  
"She knows exactly how to cause doubts, fears and suspicions. She can figure out exactly the shape and identity that she needs, slip in unsuspected, and with a few words, everything's in ruins, someone's certain that they're going to make things worse where they are, or for the person they care about, and off they go, right into her hands." He sighed, and ran his hand through his hair, ruffling the neat arrangement. "She knows how people think, and how to twist it. She knows how to vanish. But the one thing that we're sure of… If she's in something big, she's not alone."  
  
"So, who's she working with on this?" Forrest asked, glancing from Buffy to Scott. "I mean, are you absolutely certain that it's her, and that she's not just out for kicks?"  
  
"Maybe if we can figure out what she's after, that might help us figure out who she's working with." Graham's words were soft, and he stepped away from the group before pulling out a radio. "Base, this is Mulberry One. I have possible useful information concerning this afternoon's problem."  
  
"He's calling this in?" Buffy whispered to Riley, trying not to let her voice carry enough to be picked up.  
  
"Someone should." Riley shrugged.  
  
"Local sources indicate that there is a shape-shifter believed to be in the area. The creature in question can duplicate an individual closely enough to pass retinal scans." He paused, clearly listening. "Yes, retinal scans."   
  
"No, Sir, my sources do not have any reliable ideas as to the motivation of the shifter. It is suggested that the creature may be involved in a group, goal unknown." Again, he seemed to listen. "According to the local sources, this shape shifter can impersonate any human, male or female, of any age. Including speech patterns."  
  
"Yes, I do believe that this shifter would be a threat. I do not think that it would be safe to assume that it has no functional knowledge of tactics or weaponry." He paused, and grinned as he continued. "Me sir? No, I do not have any suggestions for dealing with this shape-shifter, that's what the command level personnel are for. Mulberry out."  
  
Forrest chuckled. "Sometimes it's good not to be in charge."  
  
Graham shrugged, still smiling just a little. "They're alerted. It should be easy enough for someone to connect shape-shifter, odd behavior, and Riley's got an alibi to add up to it wasn't him. And how do you keep a shape-changer out anyhow?"  
  
"If you come up with something, let us know." Scott murmured.  
  
"Buffy, why don't you and Scott come with us? We're trying to relocate the escaped Hostiles, and we know what areas have already been searched…" Riley offered, his eyes pleading for a chance.  
  
For a moment, Buffy wanted to refuse, to tell him that she could patrol just fine on her own. But this might be a good chance to learn about their strategy, about the way the camouflage guys operated. And it might give her time to figure out what to think about the military knowing about demons and vampires. "I guess we could."  
  
End part 26.  
  
"Vic and Joyce… Vic and Joyce. My aunt's ex and Buffy's mom… This is just…" Xander was muttering as he took away the bloody water and the blood stained wash cloths. "And why can't I have some weirdly accelerated healing thing?"  
  
Willow resisted the urge to giggle. Instead, he looked at the small stack of bullets that she'd removed from Vic. "Well, why shouldn't he move on after splitting up from your aunt Sue?"  
  
"But… Buffy's mom! If they hook up… well, he's practically family, and if Joyce became his family, then that would make Buffy practically near related." Xander sighed, and suddenly sat down on the chair. "There's no hope there, is there? No me and Buffy?"  
  
"What about Anya?" Willow wasn't quite certain what had made Xander start considering his love life, but it felt good to talk to him.  
  
"Anya showed up, and told me that he plan was to have sex with me until I was out of her system. Sort of like a disease or something." Xander gave a wobbly smile. "I mean, yay for the sex, but… Is it too much to ask that she at least sound like she might like something about me? That she might consider caring a little? True love might be too much to ask, but how about a little like?"  
  
"Who's Anya?" Vic seemed to have finished his phone call, and moved back into the kitchen, frowning at the stack of bullets.  
  
"My sort of… well, I guess girlfriend? It's complicated." Xander shook his head. "So… what happened to result in you being shot nearly to death and laying in the park?"  
  
"I got jumped by a group of soldiers. I was bored, so I figured why not." He shrugged, and then frowned. "They had stun guns. Pretty high voltage. Things got ugly for a few moments, and then they hit me with several of them, and I guess it made me black out. I woke up in a cell. They moved like military, but I didn't see insignia to tell me what branch. They all sounded American though."  
  
"Why would there be… Why would the military be grabbing big scary guys?" Xander asked, opening the cupboards in search of something. "Chips? We've got barbeque and Doritos."  
  
"The military's been interested in mutants for a long time. There was a project… maybe thirty years ago. I can't remember everything. It had a lot of failures before it got taken down. They were trying to make better soldiers… to use mutants." He was growling faintly, and those sharp claws were tapping against the table. "No reason to think the government wouldn't be up to something similar again, but why in the hell am I in the middle of it?"  
  
"Sunnydale and the Hellmouth. Dangerous, scary and just weird stuff is drawn here. Like the swim team, and the zoo keeper, and the talent show, or the Epps brothers, or… Ethan. Not to mention the demons." Xander shuddered, and pulled out the chips.  
  
"Were they doing anything there?" Willow asked, hoping to prevent Xander from going into a rant about the disasters of Hellmouth living. "Anything that could hint at research or what they were up to?"  
  
"They had me in a cell, part of a long hallway full of cells. Most of them had somebody inside. Vampires, and some others. I didn't see it, but they had a surgical set up somewhere, and it was used. Both on humans and on others." Vic was looking at his hand as he spoke.  
  
"How do you know there was a surgical suite if you didn't see it?" Willow wanted to know, and had a bad feeling about anything secret and surgical in Sunnydale.  
  
Vic glanced up, and offered a small smile, not quite showing all the points of his teeth. "I could smell it. Blood, antiseptics, traces of sedatives."  
  
Xander sat down, and looked over. "Sounds like another Sunnydale science project about to go wrong. How are we going to deal with this one? I mean, military funding… It's probably a lot better than what the swim coach had, or the Epps chop-shop set up."  
  
"I don't know." Willow pulled up her knee, and looked again at the pile of bullets. "But this has to be something bad. Maybe bad on scale with the mayor."  
  
"The Mayor? What's wrong with the mayor?" Vic asked.  
  
"Evil sorceror that turned into a giant snake and tried to eat us at Graduation this spring. We blew up the school." Xander had a small smile. "I don't think we can get enough explosive to detonate a secret military base."  
  
"It's underground. Probably under something." Vic shook his head, and looked back at Xander. "Maybe you need to explain more about this town?"  
  
"I wonder if Buffy's cousin and his girlfriend might have any idea how to deal with this?" Willow murmured, thinking out loud. "After all, they work at a school, they might have experience with large scale planning."  
  
"Buffy's cousin?" Xander repeated, looking over at her. What cousin?"  
  
"Her cousin Scott that she hasn't seen in ages." Willow smiled, and shifted on the chair. "Apparently, he teaches at a private school in New York, and he and his girlfriend were here, Buffy bumped into them…"  
  
"A school… Is he a bit taller than Xander, dark hair, with red glasses? And the girlfriend's a redhead?" Vic had this odd look, not quite alarm, but containing surprise and resignation.  
  
"Yeah. Do you know them?" Willow looked over. She knew that Jean had been alarmed about him, referring to him as 'Sabertooth', but she didn't know why. She had the feeling that Vic was well acquainted with 'complicated' and that it probably described his life.  
  
"mmm. We've met. Disagreed. They think humans and mutants can all get along and be friends." He clearly didn't want to go into details.   
  
"Let me guess…" Xander had a grin. "It's complicated?"  
  
Vic just nodded. "They might be useful though."  
  
"I'll just call over and see if someone's still over at the Summer's place." Willow offered, standing up from the table. Walking over to the phone, she heard Vic start asking Xander about Sunnydale, and smiled. Maybe things wouldn't be too bad.  
  
End part 27. 


	12. parts 28 to 30

Jean had just started to explain how being a telepath could absolutely ruin the effect of a good joke when the phone rang. Joyce had managed to get Jean talking about how a school for mutants could be organized and run, hoping that it would distract her from her headache. There were a small number of students, some as young as seven, others as old as Scott or even more.

The telephone rang, and Joyce sighed. "Just a moment, let me see who that is. It's too late for a telemarketer... I hope Buffy and Scott are alright."

Her hand shook a little as she lifted the phone. "Hello?"

Willow's voice came through softly. :Hey Mrs. Summers. Have you heard from Buffy yet?:

"No. Is there something wrong?" She could feel her pulse pick up, and wondered if tonight would be the night her daughter didn't come back. It was a fear that had plagued her since she'd learned what Buffy did, how dangerous it truly was to be a Slayer.

:Something's usually wrong in Sunnydale. We've learned... I guess a bit more about the current weirdness, I suppose. Xander's busy freaking out about other stuff, and I was just... I think Buffy's going to be busy tonight.:

"Scott went out with her. They were having weird suspicions after that jeep full of soldiers went past... Does the military know about vampires?" Joyce closed her eyes, thinking about how simple everything had been when she was Jean's age. She'd been happily married, and newly pregnant. The biggest fears in her life had been something going wrong with her baby or her favorite soap opera being cancelled. Life had been so simple then.

:I don't know if they really do, but they know something's up with Sunnydale. I just... We don't know what they're up to, but we don't like it already.: Willow sighed. :Xander and Vic are over in the kitchen, trying to catch up on the past ten years or so, and I don't want them to worry too much about what I'm saying, you know?:

"Joyce, what brought on the question about the military and vampires?" Jean asked, holding out a cup of cocoa, steam wisping up between the marshmallows.

Glancing over, Joyce took the cup in her free hand with a smile. "Willow's on the phone. Apparently she and Xander learned a bit that might help figure out what's going on."

"Do you think what they've learned could be important for Scott and Buffy on patrol?" Jean asked, and then added, "I can relay some things to them. One of the advantages of being a telepath."

"Let me check." She returned her attention to the phone, and asked about her new fears. "Willow, do you think that Buffy and Scott will need to worry about the military as well as the vampires and demons?"

:Yes. I mean, neither of them look to different, so they probably wouldn't just go hey, you're weird, let's take them in, but they're out patrolling and that leads to doing strong stuff, and fighting vamps, and it might look impressive and that would be scary to someone who doesn't know them and militaries are known for locking up the scary before they ask the questions, and I don't think that would be very good for Scott or Buffy and then we'd have to rescue them and we wouldn't know where they are and...:

"Alright! I get the idea.:" Joyce interrupted, now worrying even more after Willow's babble. "Just a moment while I have Jean relay that... some of that."

"She babbled, didn't she?" Jean asked, sipping at the cocoa with a smile. "That girl must have phenomenal lungpower."

"Years of practice." Joyce sighed. "There's apparently some sort of military project that was holding at least one mutant and some demons captive. They don't know where, or why, but they're very worried about it. Willow's concerned that if the pair of them are observed on patrol, they might be taken captive."

"Not good." Jean put down her mug, and placed her hand on her temple. I'll just pass the warning on to Scott... and hope they haven't already run into any big trouble."

For a few moments, Jean was silent, her eyes closed as she relayed the message. At least, that was what she'd said she was doing, though it was a bit hard to tell.

In another section of Sunnydale, a girl sat in the darkest corner of the Espresso Pump, sipping at the strongest coffee that she could get, hoping that this time, she'd lost them. That this time, there wouldn't be any more people chasing after her.

Her father had taught her how to be prepared, how to hack into computers and to slip past security, but this was a step up. They weren't casual observers that had to be prevented from noticing anything to make them pay attention, these were dedicated hunters, and she was their prey.

This was California, the blond of her hair shouldn't stand out that much, nor what looked like a strong suntan. Her clothing wasn't that unusual, considering the college population. A couple piercings and it was amazing how many store-clerks were content to ignore her, how well she vanished in coffee houses and bars. As long as she didn't slip up, didn't let anybody see, maybe they wouldn't notice. Maybe she could vanish into the town.

She'd only lost the last one after ducking through a cemetery. He'd been dragged down by a group of hungry ... She didn't know what those had been. It had probably been a horrible death. But they'd been tracking her all the way from Texas, and showed no signs of stopping. They'd killed her father. If she was lucky, they would be trying to kill her as well. She couldn't let them get a hold of her.

But she'd never really been that lucky.

End part 29.

Riley tried to focus on hunting for the escaped hostiles. He didn't want to worry about why Buffy and her cousin were hunting vampires and demons, and he didn't want to dwell on the sharp feeling of pain and jealousy that he'd felt when he first saw Buffy standing beside some other guy. And he didn't think that he could afford to think too much about this shape shifter Mystique right now.

"So, you're the Slayer? The big bad that all the hostiles are afraid of?" Forrest's voice was low, pitched so as not to carry far. "I was expecting someone taller."

"Yeah, I've heard that before." Buffy sighed, shaking her head. "It's a destiny thing. I get to be the Slayer, even if there are taller people out there."

"You call them hostiles?" Her cousin Scott asked, his voice hinting that there were a dozen other things he wanted to say but was restraining.

"Yes." He nodded, not certain if the gesture would be seen. "The official designation is Hostile Sub-Terrestrials, because so many different types seem to choose underground lairs. And no, I didn't come up with the name. It was already in place when I joined. I suppose..." Riley paused, his stomach feeling cold and knotted as he thought about the situation. They were hunting for demons. It made him feel almost sick, just like every other time he'd thought too much about demons being real, and dangerous. "I suppose if they really are demons, the government wouldn't' want to acknowledge that, would they?"

"The word demon scares people. It hits things deep inside that the HST designation doesn't touch." Graham commented."

And before anyone could say anything else, they were attacked by three large things, about twice as tall as a man, with taut pale skin and long arms with sharp claws. They grinned with sharp teeth and there was this nasty clicking sound from inside... Did they have a second set of jaws inside the first?

Riley's tazer dart hit the first one right in the thigh, and he could see the voltage crackle over the wire. But the thing didn't fall, instead, it glared at him, with this hissing click, and it started to get closer, claws raising as if to strike. He could feel his pulse racing as the world slowed down around him.

This was bad.

Buffy had her sword, and it gleamed in the moonlight as she lunged forward, a shimmering arc that struck low, right across the back of the approaching demon' s knees. With a piercing shriek, it fell, now a bit shorter, some foul dark stuff flowing from the stumps and the wounded legs as it toppled over forwards. Riley moved to the side, not wanting it to land on him, feeling like his heart was hammering in his mouth. Ignoring the tazer, he pulled the pistol that they weren't suppose to use unless it was a last resort, and fired at the back of the demon's head.

The world seemed to flare into red as the demon's head shattered, and the arms and shortened legs began to twitch with death-convulsions. The electricity hadn't really done more than annoy it, but dismemberment and a gunshot to the head had worked just fine – the world wasn't too far out of balance after all.

And then he remembered that there had been three of them, not just one. Buffy was taking swipes at a second one with her sword, the blade now coated with the dark demon blood instead of gleaming in the light. There were thin slashes along its arms, and one of the fingers had been entirely severed, but it looked more like she was just holding it at bay than it being defeated. He looked for the third demon, worried about Forrest and Graham.

They'd used one of the tazer darts as a trip wire. Apparently, the demon had fallen, and now Forrest and Graham were clubbing at the flailing limbs with the tazers, hardly an approved use of government issue weapons. Somehow, Riley didn't think he'd be objection. Scott was there as well, hefting a length of tree branch in his hands.

The tree branch made a satisfying crack as it hit the demons arm, and the bones were obviously broken. It didn't take long before that one was battered to death, all three of them having matching expressions of fear and revulsion. Buffy managed to skewer hers, and then cut off the head, muttering something about 'Better safe than sorry' as she did.

"So, that was ugly. You do this often?" Forrest asked.

Riley blinked, realizing that Buffy didn't look nearly as affected as he felt, as her cousin or Forrest and Graham looked. She seemed to be taking all of this in stride. Her name slipped out, though he wasn't quite certain what he was asking. "Buffy?"

"I hadn't run into any of those before. I'll have to check the big books of demons to see what they were, and if there's a better way to kill them. Mostly it's vampires. Lots and lots of vampires." She sighed, leaning the sword against a tree as she tucked her hair back into place. "At least I wasn't alone against those things."

"Alone? Why would you be alone?" It was hard to tell at first if the words had been Scott's or Graham's, until Riley realized that it was because they'd both demanded the same information almost simultaneously.

"Well..." Buffy shifted, looking as if she really didn't want to answer that. It was oddly like the expression she could get in Psych class, really. "The Slayer thing normally goes 'She who stands alone against the forces of darkness?' You know, as in, not with back-up? I never liked that part of the whole thing when it was explained to me."

"You should take someone." Scott muttered, looking overprotective. "What about your friends, or... well, someone?"

Suddenly, things clicked for Riley. All the times when Buffy had plans for the evening that she didn't want to talk about, or her friends had called and she'd only claimed that 'something had come up' – it had been things like this. Demons, vampires, slaying. Feeling a bit hurt, he said, "You could have told me."

"Really?" Buffy looked at him, one eyebrow arched. "And said what? Hey honey, demons are real, and it's my solemn destiny to go hunt them? I can't go to the movies with you Friday because I have to keep this vampire clan from finding an old shiny amulet and wiping out hundreds of people? Like you'd have believed that."

For a moment, Riley felt tense, almost hurt from her words. But, hadn't he used almost the same logic for why he hadn't told her? Was a government funded team of demon hunters that much more believable than a solemn destiny to hunt vampires? Maybe he should just say it. "Would you have believed me if I'd said I was part of a group of military demon hunters?"

"Well...." Buffy shrugged. "This is Sunnydale, there's been a lot of strange things. But it wasn't my first guess."

Riley felt a bit of hope stirring at her words. Maybe there was still a chance for something between him and Buffy? They'd have to have a talk about it, somewhere more private, and not while hunting demons. But maybe... Things were looking up a bit.

End part 30.


	13. parts 31 to 33

Tara knocked on the door, her hand shaking a little. She'd run into her cousin on the way out of her class on Medieval British Literature, and well… it had been ugly. Beth had said so many hurtful things, so many things about tainted blood, and accusing Tara of shirking her responsibilities… It had brought tears to her eyes. But she wouldn't go back. She couldn't go back to that life, to being the sliver of a person that she'd been then.

Maybe Jean could tell her more about this Xavier's School that they taught at? Maybe that school would be good for her. Especially if her father didn't know where she'd gone… And Jean had said that they learned control, that it was okay to be able to do different things there. It sounded good, almost too good.

"Tara?" Jean's voice had a slight questioning sound as she opened the door. "Scott and Buffy are talking to Joyce…"

"That's alright…" She could feel herself blushing. "I had some questions about your school. You could help with answers, right? And Scott's… sort of intimidating."

"Scott? Intimidating? Well…" Jean blinked and shook her head; as if to say that she really didn't see him that way at all. "I can help answer some of your questions. You finished with your class? I seem to recall that you, Willow, and Buffy were attending classes at the college."

"My class is over for today." Tara nodded, reminding herself not to stare at Jean's breasts, no matter how nice they looked in the little red sweater. Eye contact. "So, umm… how many students are there? What all do you offer classes in?"

Jean smiled as she walked into the kitchen. She picked up a cup of coffee, wincing as Scott's voice carried clearly from else where.

"Because he's dangerous! Aunt Joyce, he's…"

Tara looked at the wall closest to the voice. "Do I want to know?"

"Apparently, Mrs. Summers has a date with someone that we've… well, we met him under unpleasant circumstances." Jean had the too careful phrasing that said she didn't like it but was trying to be fair about the situation. "Buffy and Scott are trying to object."

Tara just looked away, her fingers tracing over the wood grain of the tabletop. "Oh. So… ummm… Is the school far away?"

"New York state." Jean smiled, clearly thinking about something enjoyable. "We're set back from the road, not quite in any of the towns, and there's a lot of private ground. The property is mostly enclosed by a wall, except for the lake boundary. It's quite lovely. Right now, there are about two hundred students, of varying ages. We try to make sure that we cover everything that a normal elementary and high school would, and we have some other classes, depending on the specialties of some of the previous students. We can cover physics, medicine, meteorology, a little about electronics…"

"How do you determine who studies what?" Tara asked, feeling more curious.

"Well, a certain level of the basics is required. But… well, if one ten year old is ready to start algebra and another isn't, they don't both start it at the same time. With small class sizes, we can personalize the classes a bit more. And Kitty's studying physics, which I could never quite wrap my head around… She's only fifteen." Jean sighed, sipping at her coffee again. "The professor does try to encourage everyone to take some specialized classes that have to do with your mutation, if that would work. Like art classes for one of the students who can make illusions or geometry for Scott, when he was a student."

"It sounds like it would be a nice school." Tara offered. "Jean? Can you…. Do you believe in magic?"

"Magic?" Jean repeated, looking thoughtful. "I thought that most things being called magic were mutant activity, or meditation? Maybe a bit too much of certain pharmaceuticals…

Tara tried to smile, feeling very nervous inside. "It's real. I can do a little… I started with scrying spells, which are really close to what my visions do. If I use a spell, someone else can see what I can. Maybe we… well, if you and I work together, maybe we can find the other mutants you were looking for? I'd need you to picture the people."

For a few moments, Jean was quiet, and then asked a simple question. "Why don't I just make a temporary mind-link, and then you can use your clairvoyance to try to find the people?"

Tara thought about that, wondering how likely it would be that Jean would discover that she found her very attractive. But if Jean was a telepath, surely she'd had far worse than seeing or hearing that someone else thought she was attractive, right? She couldn't think of any reason other than her own possible embarrassment to object, and so she nodded, "That should work."

Closing her eyes, Tara waited for Jean to touch her mind and give the images of the people that they were looking for. She felt something, like the crackling flare of a fire, and something like honey, and she could feel Jean in her mind. An image of a young man with dark hair wearing jeans and a letter jacket appeared. Tara focused on the image, and let loose of the corner of her mind, shaping the question – where is he now?

Images flickered, stabilizing on the same young man, no longer wearing the letter jacket. He was bending over a car engine, tools beside him, grease streaking his hands and forearms as he did… something to it. He looked healthy, and not half bad… Tara realized that not only was Jean firmly heterosexual but that her admiring thoughts for the young man were spilling over into Tara's mind. Tara tried to pull the image back, wanting to see more than the inside of a garage. It was a pale yellow house with a dry yard and a weedy flowerbed with some bright red and orange mums blooming in the front. The house had dulled brass numbers on the porch – 692.

"Got it…" Jean's voice was doubled, echoing in her ears and her mind at the same moment. Then another image formed, of a young woman with blond hair, torn jeans, and a ring in her eyebrow and another in her nose. "This is the second one."

Tara focused n the girl, who was sort of pretty in a tough-girl sort of way. Where are you… An image formed, the girl pressed against a brick wall, string across the street at a brown sedan. A man in a suit was leaning out of the driver's side, talking to someone, possibly asking for directions. The young woman was clearly terrified by this, certain that 'they' were looking for her again/still. The intensity of it distracted Jean, and the link broke.

Tara blinked, grabbing at her head. It hurt, and she could still feel the intensity of the young woman's emotions… "That was weird. She's right d-down the street from the Espresso Pump. Maybe we… you… someone should go get her? Before the other people find her first?"

"You're right, I think we should. I'm not sure who's trying to find her, but she's terrified of them." Jean's voice was soft as she rubbed her head. "I'll just go get Scott."

End 31.

Forrest Gates sat on a couch, a history book spread out in front of him, a notebook on his lap. He looked as if he was working on a history report, and he'd actually intended to do just that. But he couldn't focus on the French Revolution when his mind kept turning over the latest rumors and discoveries. The Initiative told them to watch for what had to be a mutant, except that this 'inexplicably strong female that looks like a normal human woman' might be Buffy. The government had files about mutants. The Initiative… They'd probably do the same sort of tests and experiments on a mutant as they would on a hostile, a demon.

He'd managed to convince himself that the research on the demons was okay, that it was to make America safer, that it wasn't really a bad thing. That it was okay that the HST's brought in often ended up dead, or vanished. He'd never wondered what happened to them, and he'd managed to prevent himself from thinking about the chance that they could have been mutants. He'd stopped himself from thinking.

That should have set off warning bells right there. If you have to stop thinking about something to go through with it, something's wrong. Following orders wasn't enough of an excuse – the workers at the Nazi concentration camps had 'just been following orders'. Prisoners of war had been illegally executed by people 'just following orders'. It didn't make them less guilty, didn't make him less guilty. He couldn't even say that he didn't really know bad things were happening.

Was what the Initiative doing right? Was it even a good idea? Forrest wasn't certain anymore. The only thing that he was certain about was that he had to think about this, had to come to a decision on where he stood. For that, he'd need more information about what was really going on in the Initiative, what their real goals were. No more blindly following orders, no more casual listening to rumors - it was time for facts.

Putting the books away, he made his way down to the labs. He just wished that he didn't have such a bad feeling about the answers that he might find.

Willow closed another browser window and sighed. She'd found some information on Irene Adler, but none of it told her why a shape shifting mutant with ties to at least one scary person willing to ignore the rules would be interested. Of course, it was a bit interesting that the woman in question, while old, might still be alive. She had been as of a census taken three years ago, and living in a nice little retirement community in Texas.

Of course, it would help if she knew what she was looking for. Irene Adler was a blind old lady, a former stock market advisor, a former painter who'd never made it big, and a widowed mother of a little girl who'd apparently taken in an orphan, back in the days when the rich could do just about anything with few questions. A thin, quiet girl called Raven, who'd appeared in only one picture that Willow had been able to find.

Maybe she'd have better luck trying to find a hidden military demon hunting group in Sunnydale. They'd need to be hooked into the local power and water systems, so if she started there, she should be able to find something. She knew more or less what she was looking for – a large area for unreported and probably underground research, storage of equipment, confinement of prisoners, and the paperwork and records that would go along with all of that. No wonder it was underground.

Where would a secret underground base go in Sunnydale? It couldn't be under the old high school, that was where the Hellmouth and the Master's cavern would be, and they'd have noticed anything going on there. It couldn't be under the Magic Box, there were too many sewer tunnels and that larger area that they had to clean out every two months – the baddies kept thinking it made a perfect lair. It wouldn't keep getting infested if there was a group of demon hunters right beside it, and they'd gone down there just last month to get rid of a pack of ghouls. Too close to the ocean and they'd have water issues. Too far in the trees to the west and they'd be having earthquake issues, unless all those tremors over the last spring and summer had been from secret construction. They'd want a good, central location so that they could move quickly to any of the surrounding areas…

Willow pulled out a map of Sunnydale, with the graveyards and ritual hotspots already highlighted, and crossed out the place where the high school rubble still stood. She drew some lines through the land closest to the beach, where even normal basements ran into the water table. She crossed out the area near the Magic Box. Now, where would be a good central location?

Her eyes fell to the college campus almost in the middle of the town. A central location, with plenty of open spaces where there could be hidden access points. Plenty of frat houses where soldiers in disguise could be hidden in plain sight. Site of so many pledge pranks and drunken parties that nobody took things very seriously. There were four different road connections to get off campus. It would be perfect.

Oh no.

End part 32.

Joyce drove up to the hotel, feeling a bit nervous. She'd said that she might as well pick up Vic for their lunch date, considering that his hotel was on the way to the restaurant, and it had made a great deal of sense. It still made sense. But it had been a long time since she'd really dated, and, well, she was nervous. And what sort of 'something hellmouthy' had been interfering this time?

A door opened, and he stood there, a solid shape against the grey building. He looked around, and spotted her, nodding as he started to walk closer. "Joyce."

"Vic." She could feel herself blushing. "So, what happened?"

He opened the door, scrunching a bit as he sat down, making an unhappy noise as he moved the seat as far back as it would possibly go. "There's soldiers – men in camouflage and uniforms, at least. They're grabbing people. Vampires, probably demons… They stunned me, and I woke up in a concrete cell. I don't know who's giving the orders, or what they want."

Joyce felt a cold prickling run down her spine. "That's… terrible. I don't even know if I want to guess… When I was in college, years ago, there was a project about ESP, and one of the volunteers… she just vanished, and we never found out what happened. If she dropped out, or ran away, or…"

"Or if she died." His rumble was full of distrust for such projects.

"Or died." Joyce agreed, her voice low. "I wasn't expecting anything like this. I just thought… I wanted to try lunch."

"Are you nervous because of the soldiers, or me?" He asked, sounding almost regretful.

"Yes." Joyce said, and then sighed. "I'm worried about what the soldiers are up to. I'm afraid Buffy will get hurt trying to stop them, or that the danger will spread and more people will get hurt. And I haven't really dated anybody in a long time."

For a moment, he blinked, and then a smile spread across his face. "If that's all you're worried about…" He leaned closer, and whispered, "I haven't done too much dating lately either."

She giggled. It was almost embarrassing, but there was no other word for the sound – it was a giggle. "Hopefully, we can manage to have a nice lunch. We go in, we order food, they cook it, we eat it and try to talk some…"

"Yeah." He nodded, "That's a nice, simple plan."

She wasn't certain if her stomach was fluttering from anticipation or nerves as they stepped out of the car at the restaurant. Joyce smiled, and took Vic's arm, walking together towards the door. She just hoped their nice, simple plan didn't end up with unexpected complications.

Scott tried not to frown as Jean dragged him out the door. They'd managed to get a rental car, a rather alarmingly noisy dark vehicle that Jean assured him was brown. Tara had arrived earlier, just missing Aunt Joyce as she left for her date, and they'd talked for a while. "What's the rush?"

"One of the mutants is near the coffee house. She's terrified that 'they' – meaning men in suits – have found her again. She's certain that she's in mortal danger." Jean spoke, fishing out the keys and glaring at the car, as if daring it not to start. "We're going to go get her before they do."

"What does she look like?" Scott sighed, remembering the initial idea. Sunnydale, a small beach town in California. It should have been simple and relaxing. Demons were real, his cousin hunted vampires, Mystique was here, there were soldiers doing something, and now a mutant convinced her lie was in danger. This was getting less simple the longer they stayed.

"She's got blond hair, sort of streaky. A piercing on her left eyebrow, another on her lip, and a whole line up her ear. She's dressed… well, normal. Ripped jeans, a worn shirt, a jacket…" Jena shrugged, and left the driveway. "She's maybe a bit younger than Buffy."

Scott swallowed, and nodded. This wouldn't be the first time that they'd had to save a mutant from danger, but he still worried that something would go wrong. That this time, they'd be too late.

He didn't chide Jean about zipping through the yellow lights, or the way she ended up straddling a parking line in the little lot. He could feel himself tensing as they moved out of the car, and watched Jean carefully. The description was general enough that it fit half a dozen people that he could see right now – fair hair, torn jeans, maybe pierced. Was that why she had done it, to blend in? And if so, was it for fashion, or camouflage of a different sort?

Jean walked into the store, smiling as she slid into a booth. The girl sitting there looked up, her expression flickering through alarm and confusion before settling on a bland half smile. It was so quick that he'd almost missed it, and only barely managed to nod as the girl lifted her mug of coffee.

"Pity about the car dying on you." Jean said, as if picking up a conversation. "But we can give you a lift back to the beach."

"Thanks. I promised that I'd be there for lunch, you know?" Her voice was soft, but carried no trace of the California accent that seemed so prevalent.

Scott tried not to frown out the window. An uncannily unremarkable car, containing two men in suits was now pulling away, the passenger side man fumbling with something. A microphone? A camera? The road… should take them towards the beach, he realized. They'd been spying, trying to find a time and place to grab the girl.

Jean sat back up, tossing a few dollars on the table. "Come on, the car's outside. You can come with us."

The girl hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, leaving the now empty cup on the table. "I guess. Not like I have too many other options."

"We want to help you." Jean said, her voice soft as she lead the way back to the rental.

"Even though you don't know…" The girl cut off her words, and took a deep breath. "Why?"

"You're a mutant." Jean's voice was soft, and she glanced at the girl as she slid into the passenger seat. "We're from a school that can help you."

"We're also mutants." Scott spoke, hoping to ease her fears. "We learn control, so we don't accidentally hurt people with our abilities."

"What do you do?" The girl asked, twisting to look at him.

"I… I guess you could just call them eye-beams." He sighed, for a moment wishing there was a nice, simple, impressive sounding description. "Unfortunately, I can't quite control them without the glasses."

"And you?" She looked at Jean, her body slightly less tense.

"Telekinesis." Jean smiled, and then added, "And some telepathic abilities."

"Oh." The girl was quiet for about a block, and then whispered, "Where did yours come from?"

Scott shrugged. "We don't know. Sometimes people are just born different. What… um, what do you want us to call you?"

"I'm Charlie, and I light fires." Her voice was soft, and she looked up, her eyes pained. "My parents were in some study, back before I was born. It apparently did something, and changed them. Then, they had me…"

"And they wanted to know what you could do." Scott finished, feeling like his stomach had just dropped out. He'd wondered when the next complication in this mess would hit. This sounded just about… well, just as dangerous and confusing as everything else.

"Yeah, and if they could control me." Her words were bitter. "They've been chasing us… me for years. They've killed both my parents now."

"We'll try to keep you safe, Charlie." Jean promised.

Scott just hoped they'd be able to keep that promise. The government… Hopefully, it wasn't connected to the soldiers. That would just be a bit too much.

End part 33.


	14. parts 34 to 36

Xander dragged himself to the base for the ice cream trucks, feeling like he'd really rather stay home snuggled up with Anya. Things in Sunnydale were getting weirder, and that was always a bad thing. There were those weird groups that he'd seen occasionally, looking like clusters of soldiers lurking in the old industrial area. Lots of vamps and demons hung out there. He wasn't sure if it would be good or bad if the soldiers were aware of that, but his gut was certain that things would get ugly.

There were several of the other guys just standing outside of the garage, looking nervous. Randy was puffing on a cigarette, pacing in little circles.

"What's going on? Shouldn't we be opening up the garage, starting our routes?" Xander asked, worry already setting in. This wasn't right, wasn't part of the routine. Unexpected changes like this were generally bad in Sunnydale.

"Garage is still locked." Randy snapped, and sucked on his cigarette, red rimmed eyes flickering from Xander to the garage to the dark door that led to the office. "Nobody's answering the bell either."

"We tried pounding on it and shouting some too. Then we tried the garage access door, and it was locked." Chipped in Steve. "I think I strained something."

"Okay, normally, Jack's got everything ready to go before any of us ever get here. What's the earliest that anybody got here, and how long does that make it that things have been locked when they shouldn't be?" Xander spoke, trying to take charge because someone needed to.

"Some days I get here at six. He's always got things ready to go by then. The door's never been… This has never happened before. There's always been a note or something." Steve muttered, staring at the door.

"Six… That's before sunrise, isn't it?" Xander was getting a bad feeling. Were garages counted as public domain, the sort of places that didn't require an invitation for vamps?

"Maybe not in the summer, but it is now." Randy agreed.

"Told him those early hours weren't healthy," Grumbled Frank, his hat pulled low over his face. "Hope he's still around to believe me."

Xander looked at Frank, wondering if he'd actually found someone else that had a clue about the dangers of Sunnydale. Frank hadn't ever come out and said anything, but… who would? If you didn't already know, it would sound crazy. Half the time, it sounded crazy even though he did know. Or maybe Frank just didn't like mornings. "Has anybody called the police?"

"Yeah, they're supposed to be here pretty soon now." Steve tapped at his pocket, where there was the faint bulge of a cell phone. "Not that I think they'll do much good. I think… whatever happened is over and done with."

For once, the police lived up to their word and duty, arriving a few minutes after Xander. The pair of officers got out of the car, and one began looking carefully at the garage and office door while the other collected statements. Granted, most of them were variations of 'I got here, and the door was locked, which isn't normal. Nobody answered, and things feel wrong.'

Xander watched as the first officer spoke into a little radio, and then carefully fussed with the locks on the smaller door beside the garage. Glancing back, he called, "The office appears to be normal, but if there's a problem, we'll need to take a closer look. I'm going to open the door to the garage."

The second officer waved the go-ahead, and everybody watched. Steve shifted his weight from foot to foot. "If we're lucky, I'm going to get yelled at for causing a big fuss over nothing."

The door cracked open, and Frank winced. "Oh no…"

Xander frowned, wondering what Frank could possibly mean. The door had been locked, and it was dark inside. Not good, but Frank sounded a lot more upset than just the fact that normal routines had been broken. Unless maybe Frank knew about the not-so normal because he wasn't quite normal himself.

The officer peered into the darkness, and shook his head. There was a short delay as he went to the car to grab a heavy looking flashlight, and then he went to the door and shone the light inside. That lasted about fifteen seconds before he backed away, swearing as he turned pale.

"And the Hellmouth strikes again." Xander muttered. "I knew I should have stayed in bed."

The officer straightened up, glancing at the door again before stepping further away and looking at them. "There's been… That's a crime scene now, you'll all have to go home. Your trucks are… ahh… evidence. Your feelings that something was wrong were, in this case, dead right."

"When you say 'dead right', is that literal?" Randy asked.

There was a grim silence, and the officer looked back at the door. "It's a bit too early to figure out for certain, but someone or something has been… left in pieces spread over a large portion of the garage and the tucks. There's the possibility that it might be your employer's remains."

"Oh God…" Steve looked like he was going to be sick.

"Go ahead and go home, guys. We've got your names if we have any more questions." The officer said, his expression sympathetic.

Xander shivered, pulling his jacket a bit closer as he started back towards his car. Pieces… About the only thing that could possibly be good about that was that it meant he wouldn't be having to stake his boss. The engine rattled, and refused to start.

For a moment, he closed his eyes as he rested his head against the steering wheel. This wasn't a place to stay. He was probably out of work. Trying again, he tapped his hand on the dash as the engine made a few grinding noises before sputtering to reluctant life. As he pulled away, he caught sight of a jeep pulling up, with a pair of army guys inside. One of them got out and started talking to the police officers.

That raised alarms in Xander's Hellmouth trained guts as well. Something was very wrong here. He'd best get to the Magic Box so they could try to figure out what was going on before it bit them all in the backside.

end part 34.

Tara remained sitting at the table for a while, letting her mind drift idly. She wasn't a demon, didn't have demon blood from her mother. Her father had lied to her for all those years. She was human. Well, a mutant, but mutants were still human, just with a few extra options. Sort of like a special sort of car to buy…

Her mind flickered, and she remembered her mother, looking tired and sort of faded as they walked to visit her Grandmother, memories of helping in the garden. She remembered her grandmother baking those little delicious cookies, and talking about far away places that she'd seen. Remembered Gran explaining that with the Seeing, all she had to do was send her mind and she could see far away places as well.

Shivering, she remembered the momentary glimpse that she'd had of a row of cells, with creatures imprisoned inside. Wirth a little, well, the closest that she could explain it was halfway between a mental shiver and a mental hiccup, her inner eye was there again, looking in the long hallway of concrete cells. There were no windows, and the cells were all empty. The places where there had been the glass doors had been shattered, and a few shards of glass still clung to the sides here and there. Some had been crusted by dark substances, like dried blood as if something had simply forced its way through the glass, heedless of the fact that it was slashed and cut in the process. But it wasn't all the right color to be blood, not human red blood at least. The things that had been captive had escaped.

As she puzzled over how that could have happened, she heard footsteps in the hallway, and there was a man, dressed in camouflage like a soldier in an action movie. He was a tall black man, with a bald head and a worried expression. He just walked slowly down the hallway, as if he was inspecting it, and one hand clenched into a fist as he walked.

Tara grabbed at the mug, and swallowed cold coffee. She really needed to get better control over this. She'd been certain that she had it under control, that she wouldn't see unless she tried, and then she'd come here, to Sunnydale. It had been the farthest place from home that she'd been able to get a college acceptance letter from, and that had been almost all that she'd known. Far away and a smallish town, and off she'd gone. Maybe it was the Hellmouth? Or maybe she'd only thought that she'd had control, and it was just an illusion? Or maybe… It didn't matter. Scott and Jean were from a school for mutants, maybe they would be able to help her regain control.

She wondered how Mrs. Summers was doing with her date. Apparently, she hadn't really dated since they'd come to Sunnydale, and Buffy was worried. Or maybe Buffy was worried because Scott didn't like this Vic Creed person. She found herself wondering why that was.

Her mind did this little skipping thing, and she was seeing a flicker of images. Mrs. Summers, stepping out of her car at a little hotel, where a huge blond man opened the door. Mrs. Summers standing next to the same huge man at the art gallery, clearly on a different day. The blond man – Vic Creed? – clad all in roughly tanned leathers, throwing a short dark hared man that almost resembled a cranky Xander into a tree. The blond man again, standing next to a very old man, surrounded by police cars.

"Ohhh…. That's got to stop." Tara whispered, rubbing at her temples. Okay, had the old guy been Magneto? She seemed to remember Scott saying something about Vic Creed being Sabertooth, and working for Magneto, a very scary old man indeed. But who had the other man been? The one with dark hair? No, she was letting her thoughts wander now. That didn't matter now.

She wondered when Scott and Jean would get back, and then what they would do with the blond girl that they'd gone to rescue. Would this be a Scooby-conference at the Magic Box? Who was the man in camouflage, and why were there cells? Cells that had no windows, she realized. Why didn't they have windows? Could they be underground?

She wasn't really sure what sort of connection the rows of cells had for her, but she knew that they'd be coming up again. This was Sunnydale, and she was associating with the Slayer, if there were cells holding things, they would come up. Again and again, and probably connected with someone or a group of someones doing something horrible. She'd learned a lot about horrible things in Sunnydale.

Slowly, she picked up the phone and dialed the number for Mr. Giles. If there wasn't already a Scooby meeting in the planning, there would need to be one.

Scott leaned back in the car, trying to relax. Jean and the girl, Charlie, were in the front of the car, and Jean was driving them away from the coffee shop. They were chattering, talking about tings that didn't sound important to him. He let their words blur, and just tried to follow the feelings and reactions. Jean was trying to be soothing, and Charlie wanted to feel normal, like she wasn't being hunted.

Something would have to be done about her pursuers. People like that wouldn't stop because Charlie didn't want to play their games, and they wouldn't stop because she'd decided to go to a school. Actually, if the people after her learned of an entire school full of mutants… He shuddered, his mind painting vivid, crimson pictures of the school destroyed and the children dragged away for 'research' that would leave them either living weapons or dead from hours and hours of painful experimentation.

It was just as clear to him that Charlie should have a chance to not worry about those guys, even if only for a little bit. Maybe Jean could help her relax, to remember that she was till just a kid. Charlie couldn't be older than Buffy, for heaven's sake. They were both so young, and neither one of them was as care-free as girls that age should have the chance to be.

His stomach clenched as a dark thought occurred to him. Were the people chasing Charlie connected to the group that Buffy's boyfriend was involved with? They'd known about mutants as well as demons and vampires. The quiet one had mentioned rumors of previous projects involving mutants or demons, what sort of rumors were there? Did he mean the project that had given Logan those claws? Government controlled mutant spies? Something else, darker and uglier than either of those ideas?

Could they trust Buffy's boyfriend not to lead disaster right to them?

End 35.

Instead of returning home, Xander decided to swing by the Magic Box. Anya would probably be up and on her way there anyhow, talking about the many uses for some of the strange powders and her hopes of making money. Sometimes, he wondered if they could have a future together, if she'd let them, and sometimes, he just wondered about her. But the whole mess left him feeling unhappy, and not just because his boss was probably very, very dead. There was the obvious problem of what had caused the crime scene. But he also wanted to know why a jeep full of military guys had showed up there, and what they had to make the cops listen to them. It just didn't feel quite right to him.

He parked his car in the back, and walked up to the door marked 'Employees Only', and pushed it open. He could hear Giles, with the sort of quiet pauses that probably meant a phone conversation, and a definite lack of shouting that meant it was probably going okay.

Giles turned, glancing towards the door, relaxing slightly when he saw that it was just Xander, and Xander gave a small wave.

Moving to the back room that held the books of demons, he started to pull out the books that he could remember held descriptions of demons that tore their victims apart. He wasn't really sure that he wanted to know, or how far he'd be able to get without having actually seen the scene of the crime. Funny how calling it that made it almost easier, almost let you forget that someone had been torn apart.

"Xander, shouldn't you be at work?" Giles asked from the doorway. "What are you looking for in the Ketron's Compendium?"

"Second is directly related to the first, Giles." Xander muttered, flipping on past. Whatever had done it had been able to get into the garage without trashing the door or leaving some sort of gross slime trail, so he could eliminate some things right away. "No ice cream trucks shall go forth today, on account of the garage where our trucks sleep is now a crime scene. They didn't let us peek, but I think my boss is in pieces I there, and we're going to have to deal with whatever was responsible."

"Umm." Giles made one of those unhappy noises, and moved closer, returning one book to the shelves. "There probably won't be anything useful in this one, those demons requite a summoning, and the signs of that sort of ceremony are unmistakable and have been absent in Sunnydale."

"One less book then." Xander sighed. "I didn't see inside, but the cops looked pretty pale, so it had to have been messy."

"Was there anything that you can say about the scene?" Giles asked, adjusting his glasses.

"A jeep full of military types showed up pretty close after the cops, and they were going inside to take a look. That doesn't mix with normal police or military procedure, so something's not right there." Xander shook his head, and muttered, "None of which gets us any closer to knowing what did happen."

"How do you know that it isn't standard military procedure?" Giles asked, with an unexpected note of interest.

"Remember Halloween? The one that wasn't nearly as uninteresting as you promised it would be?" Xander replied, looking at Giles. "I got turned into a soldier, and I still have bits and pieces of his memories. I probably can't strip down an M16 as fast as Soldier-boy could, or automatically know the passwords and clearances for any given base, but I know when something's not the normal way, and the bits that are left are dead certain that's not normal. More like military-law in a combat zone than a normal base in a civilian area."

Giles nodded, and settled into the chair opposite Xander. "That is quite reasonable sounding. It's to be expected that there would be some remaining bits of memory, though my research suggests that it's most comparable to remembering a particularly vivid dream."

"So why do you still look a bit freaked?" Xander asked, having a prickling certainty that things were going to get worse.

"I'm sure that you recall Buffy mentioning that she had observed groups of men in camouflage during some of her patrols. They appeared to be hunting, and the odds that it is simply a longstanding game of paintball are… not worth betting." He shook his head, and made a sort of tskking noise. "Adding in the news of your near-uncle and his run in with similarly garbed individuals who made things most unwelcome…"

"How did you know about that?" Xander blurted. "I didn't tell you."

"You are, I assume, aware that your almost uncle called Joyce. Buffy learned of her mother's renewed plan to date, and was… mmm… concerned. Apparently, Buffy and her cousin Scott attempted to persuade Joyce not to go on her date this morning, and were rather unsuccessful. His temporary incarceration at the hands of these soldiers was brought up, and Buffy made extensive complaints to me after her patrol about the soldiers and their complications, including the fact that Riley Finn is one of their number." Giles glanced at the table, frowned, and continued. "Now you tell me that there were camouflaged individuals at the ice cream truck garage, and that such a presence is not standard military procedure, and I believe it adds up to the military has an interest in the demonic."

"That can't end well." Xander muttered.

"No, I don't believe it will." Giles agreed, and then added, "At Tara's suggestion, I've called for a Scooby meeting. Now, I'm going to get some more tea."

"Right." Xander nodded, his mind already spinning wildly. Why had Tara suggested the meeting? Buffy's near-boyfriend was one of the soldiers? What were they up to? And the whole idea of the government and demons… He kept thinking of the late Mayor Wilkins. "We're so screwed."

End 36.


	15. parts 37 and 38

Tara was the first to arrive, looking pale and haggard, as if she'd slept poorly. She shuffled into the shop, glancing over crystals and incense before slipping into the back, dropping her book bag onto the floor beside a chair. Her hands were shaking as she pulled out the notebook, and started to sketch as much as she could remember from the flashes of the place with cells. She tried to draw them before, when they were filled with strange, and frightened creatures, and after, shattered glass and strange dark stains. She was still sketching as Scott, Jean and the pierced girl arrived.

"Tara? We found your note." Jean murmured, moving to stand near the sketching girl. "I don't think Charlie's up to that much company, is there somewhere that she could wait?"

"Probably. I could check with Giles, but she could probably either wait in the receiving room or his office." Tara murmured, looking at the girl with her physical eyes. She was prettier than Tara had realized, though the look of tired fear was not encouraging. "I'm glad that you found her in time."

"How did you know?" Charlie asked, moving towards Tara. "How did you know they were looking for me?"

"They came here trying to find three mutants." Tara whispered, looking right into Charlie's eyes. "You're one of them. I'm another."

"What do you do then?" Charlie whispered.

"I see things." Tara admitted, knowing that it didn't sound that impressive. "I can find a person that I know, see where they are, what they're doing. Sometimes I can see things that happened earlier, or that haven't happened yet. I saw you hiding, afraid that the men in suits would catch you."

"Well, thanks then." Charlie smiled.

"You're welcome." Tara could feel herself blushing as she went out to the front, looking for Giles. She wasn't quite certain why, but her face definitely felt warm. Giles and Xander were carrying a box of books, while Anya lurked at the register. "Giles? For this meeting… umm."

"Is there a problem?" He asked, looking at her with concern.

"Well, Scott and Jean brought someone with them, and I'm not sure that their guest will want to be in on the discussion. Maybe…" She could feel herself fidgeting, and glanced down at the floor. "I was wondering if your office or the receiving room would be a better place to wait?"

"I might need some of the books in the office." Giles replied, clearly thinking out loud. "If their guest won't mind my possibly going in and out… No, the weapons are there as well. The receiving room would probably be much better."

"Okay." Tara nodded and returned to the back room. Charlie was sitting on the table, her knee visible through several rips in her jeans, flexing as her feet kicked gently back and forth.

Jean arched an eyebrow, as if in silent query, but didn't say anything. Scott was looking at the sketches.

Holding the notebook, he said, "Tara? What…?"

"Something that I saw, in one of the visions. I'm not quite sure where, but I know it's trouble, and it's going to come up again somehow. Trouble always comes back up in this town." She moved closer, reaching to take the notebook from his hands. "I think we may have to do something about this place. And Giles said that if Charlie doesn't want to sit in on the meeting, she could wait in the receiving room, if she wants."

"What did you say to him?" Charlie asked, her voice worried. "How much does he know?"

"I said that Scott and Jean brought a guest, and that I wasn't sure if you'd want to be in the discussion." Tara frowned, wondering if this was the result of Charlie being hunted for however long it had been. "I didn't use a name, or even a pronoun."

"The less mentioned, the harder it would be for them to find me again." Charlie whispered, looking haunted. "They've proven that they'll go to horrible lengths. Because of them, both of my parents died. Because of them, I've been running for so long that I can't remember not running and hiding."

"Maybe it's time to stop running?" Jean offered.

"Maybe." Charlie sounded doubtful. "But I won't let them take me again."

Tara looked at her, preparing to offer some sort of reassurance. But at the sight of Charlie sitting there, her fists clenched as tiny flames danced over her fists and hair and shoulders, the words were gone. She looked amazingly uncanny, beautiful and dangerous as fire itself. "Firestarter…"

End part 37.

Buffy was feeling almost good as they walked to the Magic Box. There had been a message on her cell phone, which she'd turned off for Psych class, requesting a Scoobie meeting ASAP. "I really feel like I understand this stuff. Isn't that just neat?"

"Yeah, it's a good feeling." Willow replied, before teasingly adding, "And if you'd studied more in high school, you'd already know about that good feeling."

"Hey! I had a lot to deal with in high school." Buffy protested.

"We all did, remember?" Willow retorted.

"Okay, I get the point. High school sucked for all involved. But still – I'm following the lectures. This stuff actually makes sense." Buffy muttered. "I like it when things make sense."

"It makes sense because this section is all about behavioral conditioning and learned reactions! Of course it makes sense to you, you've been getting all this without the technical for years now." Willow smiled. "So, this is probably about those guys, and what Vic had to say, right?"

"Probably." Buffy sighed, remembering the futile efforts that she and Scott had used to try to talk her mom out of this. "If she had to start dating again, why not someone normal?"

Willow just started to laugh, shaking her head and pointing at Buffy, before bursting into more laughter.

"What's so funny?" Buffy demanded, looking at her friend.

"Normal? First off, where are you going to find someone normal in this town?" Willow snickered, and then shook her head. "And secondly, a normal guy would run screaming from your life, which does include your mom at times. Or maybe you think she should start dating Giles?"

"Ack!" Buffy gave an exaggerated shudder. "I think that might actually be worse. Mom and Giles… I'd never get away from the whole destiny thing. Don't give the Hellmouth any weird ideas."

Buffy paused open the door to the Magic Box, glaring at the jangling bells that always gave it away when someone entered the building. "So, I guess we go talk to Giles and learn what's the what."

Willow nodded absently, and sighed. "You know it's going to mean no happy weekend plans, right?"

"Don't they always?" Buffy sighed.

Xander and Giles joined them as they went to the back room, where Tara was waiting with Scott, Jean, and an unfamiliar blond girl. The stranger had a line of earrings, and torn jeans, and she looked so startled to see them that she gasped, her hands going to the table in an effort to keep her balance.

"Anybody else smell smoke?" Buffy asked, wrinkling her nose as she tried to figure out the source of the smell. The air felt awfully warm in here, and she looked towards Giles. "Is the air conditioner trying to quit working again, Giles?"

Scott pointed at everyone, indicating names to go with faces. "That's my cousin Buffy, her friend Willow, her friend Xander, and Rupert Giles. Mr. Giles owns this store. This is Charlie."

"Okay. Hi there Charlie, what's going on here anyhow?" Buffy asked, starting to get a feeling that this wouldn't be quite the usual demon hunt and slay.

Tara handed her a notebook, opened to show pages with rough drawing of cells, confining creatures that clearly weren't human. She recognized one of the mutated swim team members, and one that could only be a vampire, but most weren't familiar. She was willing to bet her new jacket that most would be found in the pages of Giles' big books of demons. Feeling more sketches on the back, she flipped it, looking at those. Empty cells, with thick shards of glass and dried, dark stains littering the floor, and a shape dressed in military looking camouflage standing in the middle of the hallway. "This is bad."

"That's probably how the Hostiles that your boyfriend mentioned left the place." Scott's voice was unhappy, and he leaned back, arms crossed against his chest. Red light flickered behind his sunglasses. "God only knows what they were planning to do with them."

Xander leaned in, frowning at the pages. "Where would you put something like that that it wouldn't be noticed? I mean, the Sunnydale jail's not nearly big enough, or isolated enough. It's not at the regular Army base, so… Where is this?"

"I've got an idea about that." Willow muttered darkly. "I started to think about it when you mentioned that Riley was one of them, and that there sounded like there were a whole lot more. They have to go somewhere, right? She waited for them to nod before continuing. "They'd need to have a big facility to do all their stuff, and it has to be somewhere close so that they can be lurking all over town. Since they aren't anywhere that we can see, that rules out the regular base, the hospital, and umm… basically suggests that they're probably underground."

"Which would explain why there aren't any windows." Tara murmured, rubbing at her arms.

"Can we get anything more specific than underground?" Charlie asked, looking as if she had her own dark and unhappy thoughts going on. "What sort of people do they have lurking around town anyhow?"

"Soldiers in camouflage, patrolling in groups." Xander muttered, before adding, "Vic said there was a surgical set up in there, but he didn't see it. If there's a surgery, doesn't that mean there has to be doctors and the like?"

"Would these people be working with the men in suits, or would they be a separate organization?" Jean murmured.

"Suits?" Buffy blinked, feeling confused. "Who said anything about suits? Giles, are there more people to worry about?"

"They were after me." Charlie almost growled. "They want to do some research on me, on what I can do."

"Mutant, right?" Buffy connected the dots at last. "So, did they follow you into Sunnydale? If so, they might not be working with the people who are already here, and that might be good for us."

Charlie just nodded, and her eyes had that sort of glazed darkness that said – reliving unhappy memories here, don't bug me.

Buffy looked over at Scott, and then a nasty thought occurred to her. Would those freaky government types want to take a closer and probably painful look at her if they knew that she was the Slayer? Not that the word would probably mean anything to them, unless the Council had their fingers in the government here as well as stuffy old England, but it was something to be worried over later.

"Um, guys? I was going to tell you that I think I know sort of where they are." Willow interrupted the dark thoughts. Pulling a map from her bag, she tried to flatten it out on the table.

Buffy blinked as she realized it was a patrol map, with all the cemeteries and weird placed already marked. But there were also some lines and marks hat weren't standard. "So, what's the map tell us?"

"They couldn't be under the hills or the forest because it's geologically unstable." Willow pointed to one grouping of scribbles outside of town. "They couldn't be too close to the ocean, or they'd hit the water table with their underground base. They'd need somewhere that would give them a lot of access to the rest of town. We know they aren't under the old high school, or under here, because we check those regularly and would have found them. That only leaves… here."

Her finger was right over the college campus.

"You know, sometimes it's really annoying that you're right so often." Xander muttered. "And then again, if we know where they are, doesn't that make it make it easier to get rid of them?"

"Complication being that they're human." Buffy grumbled. "We can't just go around killing people because they're meddling with things they shouldn't. That's what bad guys do, and we're the good guys. Right? We don't kill people."

Buffy chose to ignore the fact that Willow's sudden cough sounded an awful lot like the word 'Faith'. She looked back at Tara's notebook, and shivered. "We have to finds a better way to stop this, something that won't land all of us in prison until we're mummies."

"Any bright ideas?" Xander asked, only half joking.

"Not yet." Buffy admitted. "I think we need a little more information first."

"You are not going to bring Riley into this unless you're absolutely sure he won't sell us out to the rest of the soldier guys." Xander demanded, looking half angry and half afraid.

"Not until we figure out a good, safe way to talk." Buffy agreed, reluctance filling her. She had a bad feeling about this whole thing.

"Buffy, why don't you go with me while I try to find the guy, our third mutant?" Scott offered, straightening from the wall. "Maybe everyone else can start working on a plan while we're gone?"

Tara shook her head, and picked up her bag, leaving the notebook on the table. "I need to get to the college for my class, and then I have a meting to attend."

"Oh, I have class too." Willow sighed, and lifted her own bag. "We can start planning again later?"

"I believe that Xander and I can continue on this for now." Giles murmured, lifting the notebook. "Perhaps if Jean and Charlie would wish to stay and assist?"

Buffy sighed, and walked out, Scott following her. "So, where is this guy anyhow?"

"You'll need to help me find it." Scott admitted. "I've got a description, but it includes colors."

"Oh, right." Buffy nodded, glancing at his red sunglasses. "Colors that aren't red. Let's get going then."

End part 38.


	16. parts 39 to 41

Scott handed Buffy the paper, and sighed. "Maybe you should drive. I'm officially and functionally color blind. The whole world's black, reds and pinks."

"Cool!" Buffy snatched the paper, glancing at the bits of writing. Pale yellow house with red and orange mums in front, single story, bronze numbers reading 692 beside the door. The mailbox was painted with an ocean scene, and the flag was the sail of a boat. "Would have been nice if there was a street name to go along with it, but…"

"I'm thankful that we have this much. That's a lot more specific than a dark haired guy with a letter jacket." Scott responded, and reached into his pocket, fishing for the keys. He was starting to get the sinking feeling that letting Buffy drive wouldn't be very enjoyable. "Try to get us there safely, okay?"

"Of course! I'm not that bad of a driver." Buffy snatched the keys from his hand and bounced out of the building. "I haven't wrecked any cars yet, and I haven't really killed anybody."

"As opposed to sort of killing someone? Injuring them, perhaps?" Scott asked, wondering if Mr. Giles kept something for headaches at the store. Jean's medicine would probably be too strong.

"They were vampires, that so doesn't count!" Buffy insisted.

"Oh, God…." Scott glanced upwards as Buffy's hand clamped onto his wrist, towing him towards the parking area. Vehicular homicide against vampires didn't really count? Maybe he should look for some antacids while he was searching for medicines. "Rental, dark colored, and I think Jean parked in two spots."

"That much easier to get out of the parking lot then." Buffy chirped happily. "Mom almost never lets me drive."

Scott sighed as he settled into the passenger seat. "So, where do we start looking for single story homes?"

Buffy grinned as they pulled out of the lot, and she started careening down the street. Scott gripped the door, feeling more and more uncertain about this. Maybe he should have driven, even if he couldn't see in color. Buffy could sit on the other side and watch for colors… "Stay on the road!"

Scott couldn't feel his fingers anymore by the time they found a single story pale house that Buffy assured him was yellow, with red flowers, some of which were apparently orange, and the numbers 692 beside the door. The garage was open, with a car inside, hood up and facing away from them.

"Here we are. So, I guess we go and what, ask have you seen this boy?" Buffy looked at him, and frowned. "You can let go of the door now, Scottie."

Scott ended up slowly prying his fingers away from the door, and opening it with the other hand. The guy in question looked to be about Buffy's age, give or take a year, and currently had grease smeared on his cheek. He also didn't look particularly welcoming.

Glancing at the sunlight, the young man frowned. "I didn't invite any company."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about an educational opportunity." Scott replied, wondering if the wary young man knew about vampires. "I represent a school in New York."

"I never felt the need to go East." He put down a wrench, and picked up a rag, wiping at his fingers. He wasn't making eye contact. "I figured that I'd get a job in a garage and have a nice, relatively normal life."

"Some of us can't be normal." Scott tried to be gentle, wondering what mutations he had, and what sort of experiences he'd already had.

"Growing up in Sunnydale doesn't make me trust strangers very well." He frowned, looking from Scott to Buffy. "Try harder or go away."

"You have something special." Scott tried again, not wanting to be ignored. "We can help you learn to use that something."

"Scott just wants to help you. To let you learn how to help other people." Buffy offered, looking at the guy. "Weren't you on the football team last year?"

"Yeah. And you're the chick that got named Class Protector at Homecoming." He shrugged, and scowled at the engine. "Lots of guys are on the football team, and most of them aren't getting visits from college recruiters."

Scott closed his eyes a moment, bidding farewell to his last hopes of a simple, easy recruitment. "You and I both know that you aren't quite the ordinary football player."

The guy tensed, and his hand wrapped around the wrench again. "What are you suggesting?"

"Whoa, what's with the tension?" Buffy asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Let's just say… This garage is part of the house, and I don't invite anybody in." He shifted his weight, and glanced from Buffy to Scott. "I've seen enough to decide that's a good policy."

"The nightlife here seems a bit wild," Scot agreed, trying not to look threatening.

"Stop dancing around the issue, Scott. You're this close to wigging him out." Buffy was holding her fingers about an inch apart.

"Fine, I know that you're a mutant. I represent a school for mutants, and we help people learn to control an use their abilities, and we try to help them get started on the rest of their lives." He sighed, and leaned against the door of the car. "If what you really want is to learn mechanical things, we have several different vehicles that you could study."

"Why do you say we?" He still looked wary. "My name's Justin. Who are you, and what do you normally do at this school?"

"I'm Scott Summers, Buffy is my cousin, and I normally teach Shop class and some of the English classes." He let his power show just a little, enough that the lenses of his sunglasses would glow but not quite enough to zap anything. "I was one of the earliest students at this school."

"What sort of vehicles? Busses and vans get boring after a while. Sometimes different can be good." Justin still didn't look entirely certain that he trusted them, but he was at least willing to listen.

"An assortment of cars, some motorcycles, and we've got a jet." Scott tried to keep his answer calm.

"Willow said it looked a lot like something called a Locking Martie seventy one." Buffy added, mangling the name.

"Lockheed Martin, Buffy, not locking martie. And we've made a few modifications." Scott sighed, feeling both frustrated and relieved at Buffy's cheerleader-like airheadedness.

"Really?" Justin looked very interested. "Would I be learning how to work on that? If I can learn about engines, then maybe I could work in aircraft repair, which probably pays better than auto body work."

"There's no particular reason why you couldn't." Scott was starting to feel better about this. "And I've never run into any vampires or demons back in New York."

"None?" Justin looked suddenly thoughtful and then beamed. "I can be packed in a few hours, and after that, I can leave any time."

"Great." Scott tried to look pleased, but a part of him was being sad. Such rapid agreement could only mean that Justin had lost someone to the vampires. "We might still be here for a few days, but we'll let you know about the details."

As they made their way back to the rental car, Scott took a deep breath. "That wasn't too bad. Now if I can survive you driving us back…"

"Hey!" Buffy protested.

End part 39.

Willow's class was frustratingly dull. A basic required computer class, one of the prerequisites for anything else. She already knew this stuff, and had for years. She'd actually taught some of this stuff, back during her junior year, after Jenny had been killed. As the professor droned on about binary and bubble sorts, she let her mind return to the mysterious Irene Adler, and the questions of how did Irene Adler connect to Tara's family, and why was Mystique interested in her.

Actually, the connection was simple. Irene's daughter had grown up to become Tara's grandmother. Tara's grandmother and mother were both dead, and Irene… Well, Irene seemed to have vanished. There was no reported death though, which implied that she might still be alive, though she'd have to be very, very old by now.

The sudden realization came just as the Professor was explaining the reasons why binary searches only worked if the numerical values of an array had been sorted into order. Tara was a hereditary mutant. She'd inherited the visions from her mother, who had inherited them from her mother. Irene Adler had been known for having almost a second sense about investments, and had never, ever been caught in a financial pinch because of the changing stock market. A second sense or a glimpse into the future.

After class, she slipped into the college library, and wandered over to the biographical section, pulling out a book that she remembered from her earlier efforts to find the connection. She flipped through, remembering that 'Adler, Irene' was somewhere in the middle, and there had been several pictures.

On the chance that the pictures could be useful, she scanned them onto a computer and then emailed them to herself, so that she would have them elsewhere. There was a resemblance to Tara, though there were enough differences that the two wouldn't be mistaken for each other. One picture showed Irene dancing at a club in the twenties, with that couple dancing near her. She still thought the woman looked an awful lot like Drusilla, and the guy had really nice cheekbones.

There was also a family picture, the caption reading Irene Adler-Norton, Wilhemina Norton, and Raven Adler-Norton (adopted). They made a nice family, though they all looked a bit stiff and uncomfortable. Maybe that was just from older pictures taking longer to capture the image?

As Willow put the book back on the shelf, something occurred to her – what had happened to the other girl, Raven? Wilhemina had grown up to become Tara's grandmother, lived in a small town and died, but what about Irene's adopted daughter?

Sighing, she decided that there was just too much that she already needed to do to have the time to follow after a girl who was probably dead now anyhow. Returning to her dorm room, Willow decided that her best bet might be to see if she could hack into the utilities companies systems and find out if they'd either laid in some extensive underground systems, or if the draws of water or electric had gone up in certain areas. She was already certain that these camouflage people were under the college, somewhere, but maybe this could give her an idea just how big their set up really was.

After a frustrating amount of hacking and calculations, Willow concluded that there was definitely additional draw on both electricity and water under the college, but how much of this was because of the soldiers and their secret base and how much was from the new dorm building and pair of new fraternity houses that were pulling on those resources? What were these guys doing, hiding in… Willow felt like she'd just stumbled onto something so obvious that she should have realized it ages ago.

Of course they were hiding in plain sight. Buffy had said that Riley and a couple of his friends were some of those soldier guys running around in camouflage and kidnapping demons… demon-napping? Anyhow, Riley Finn was one of them. He was officially the Teacher's Assistant for Professor Walsh, in the Psych department, not officially part of some big secret demon hunting group. His two closest guy-pals were in on it. She wondered if he could actually be hiding all of that from the Professor that he was assisting, deciding that it would come down to just how much attention Professor Walsh actually paid to him, and that was an unknown factor.

Tara's visions, the rumors that they'd heard, and what Xander had said about the guys at the ice cream truck garage all indicated that there were a lot more than Riley, his two friends and maybe a college Professor. There had to be more of the soldiers. Technical people and staff, and did they actually sweep the floors themselves, or did they have a cleaning service? For that matter, did vampires mop floors in their lairs? Wait, focus on the important thing… There were a lot more people involved in this than Riley and his friends.

They had to be somewhere, somewhere fairly close to their secret underground base, but also somewhere that wouldn't look too conspicuous. Somewhere that they could hide in plain sight, that a whole bunch of guys with big muscles keeping odd hours wouldn't be abnormal. Somewhere like a frat house. Or maybe two… Calling up the college map, she decided to get names for who was supposed to be in both of the new frat houses. If both of them seemed like candidates for secret demon hunting soldiers, that would be… lots of camouflage guys. If it was just one of them… Well, still a lot, but they wouldn't be quite as badly outnumbered.

The first one, named in honor of the late Mayor Wilkins, something which almost made Willow gag on the irony, was listed as belonging to a sorority. Most of the Sunnydale branch were in journalism, language majors, or studying Drama, with a few undeclared's. That didn't sound too likely, but this was Sunnydale, so it would be a bad idea to dismiss the chance without at least looking to see what was going on in Wilkins House. The other was Lowell House, and she was fairly certain that Riley lived there, with the rest of his fraternity.

Okay, one house full of demon hunting guys. An unknown number of scientists and doctors, considering what Vic had said. Maybe some janitorial staff, though she couldn't quite figure out how that would be explained. And enough cells to hold at least thirty prisoners, if they were one to a cell. Assuming that they only had one corridor full of cells, which would be a bad assumption to make.

She was giving herself a headache with all of this.

End part 40.

Forrest considered the situation carefully. He needed to know what was really going on with the Initiative, but if things were as bad as he was afraid they might be, then the last thing he wanted would be anyone learning that he was investigating. He would have to use a bit of caution, though the fact that nobody would suspect him of anything other than possible distraction should be in his favor.

As he made his way to the concealed elevator, the perfect solution came to him. They were still searching for some of the hostiles that had escaped. What would be more logical than trying to get a bit more information on the creatures that they were supposed to be recapturing? And considering that it was broad daylight outside, they wouldn't be out hunting. Just a little research.

He just wouldn't be researching for quite the same reason that everyone thought he would. While Forrest did want to uncover more about the captured hostiles, it just wasn't for the specific goal of recapturing all of them. If some of the hostiles had been mutants… He didn't know what he would do if they'd been capturing mutants. But he had to find out.

"Agent Gates. I didn't expect to see you here at this time of day." Walsh's voice was cool, empty of emotion. Just like always.

"Unless there's been a lot of activity and recaptures since midnight, a lot of the escaped hostiles are still out there." He waved a hand upwards, a general indication of Sunnydale. He reminded himself to stay calm, to pretend that this was just a matter of business. Just a question of escaped monsters. "I've got a pretty good memory, but I didn't bring in all of those. If an animal escapes a trap, they return to something as close to their home as possible, so I thought that might apply to these hostiles as well. A little checking on where they were found and what sort of conditions might give us better starting points for recovering them."

"An excellent idea." She smiled, a curve of lips that didn't reach her eyes. "By all means, see what you can find in the records. So far, we've only recovered seven, and three new specimens."

As he walked down the hall to the records room, Forrest tried to convince himself that the only reason he felt cold was the air conditioning. It was just the cold air blowing over his skin. The fact that his breakfast was now sitting in his stomach like a rock couldn't be so simply explained, so he tried to ignore that.

The walk down the hall couldn't have been more than fifty feet, but it felt as challenging as a three mile run. He stepped inside, and reached for the drawer with the hardcopy of the files. The most recent information was probably still only in the computer, but this would be enough to get him started. Pulling out a thick stack of folders, he turned to the table and started to read.

Forrest had already known that what he was going to find wouldn't be pleasant reading. The first file was about a hostile, with four arms and covered with light green scales. From the file, it had been found in a cemetery, digging up bodies and eating them. After it had been stunned and brought in, the scientists had taken it directly to the operating theater and opened it up. They'd examined internal organs, prodded nerves with electric currents to test reaction speed and neural conductivity. Experiment after experiment had been done on the male hostile until it had died on the table. That was the end of Hostile Twenty-five.

The next file was about Hostile Twenty Four, a large creature that looked almost like a human man. Bigger than most, with long eyebrows and sharp claws. That was the one that had nearly taken out the seven man squad that had found him. There was a list of tests requested, things that had been delayed because the operating theater had been used to try to save the lives of the soldiers that he'd ripped open. He was one of the creatures that had escaped.

Forrest considered the report carefully. The creature had been walking in the woods. The squad had attacked because he looked different, and he'd responded by defending himself, and nearly killing them in the process. But he hadn't been the one that started things. In fact, considering the way he had been wearing clothing instead of just being covered in scales or fur, it looked more and more like this particular hostile was fully sentient. His hand was shaking as he flipped to the last section of the file, with the preliminary medical notations. They'd run some simple blood work, and the results were almost indistinguishable from a normal human sample. More adrenaline, more endorphins and some of those emotion hormones, but… Human. Hostile Twenty Four was a mutant, not a demon or vampire.

The tests, the whole painful assortment that had been done on the corpse-eater, had still been scheduled for the mutant. Even knowing that he was human, not demon.

As Forrest moved to the next file, he felt colder than before. There was a sour taste in his mouth, and his stomach felt like it help a lump of lead.

The next file was about a vampire. The same series of tests had been done on her. She had survived, sort of. They'd opened her up and poking around inside, noting that most of the internal organs had shriveled, looking rather mummified with the exceptions of the heart and stomach. She'd screamed for an hour before falling unconscious, the notations indicating that the scientists were unsure if this was because of blood-loss, systemic shock, or simply an effort to escape the pain. A behavioral modification ship had been implanted and she'd been taken to a holding cell. She was listed simply as Hostile Twenty Three.

Hostile Twenty Two had been dragged out of the ocean. There were long descriptions, but the picture reminded him of old horror movies with fish men and lagoon creatures. The scalpels hadn't been able to cut through the scales, though they had managed to get a blood sample after shooting the Hostile with a bullet. According to the lab results, there were elements similar to those of sharks, deep-water fish, and also elements normally associated with humans. Another note indicated that the creature appeared to be capable of surviving underwater, and to see if remaining dry caused 'adverse effects on the creature's health', something that sounded particularly ruthless.

Hostile Twenty-One looked rather like a humanoid lamprey eel, with revoltingly scabrous gray skin. Preliminary testing indicated that it had some sort of clear yellowish fluid in its circulatory system, and two hearts beating simultaneously. Someone had decided to run a test later, to remove one heart and see if the creature could survive with only one. No anesthetics had been used so far, not for this or any other creature that he'd read about.

Trying to swallow back nausea, he flipped open a few more files. Something shoulder high and covered with extra wrinkly skin, large ears and wearing overalls, dragged out of a condemned building. A vampire that didn't look older than fourteen, taken from the bus stop where she was reported to have propositioned one of the soldiers. Something that smelled 'like rotting leather' that had worn long brown robes. Another vampire, this one described as looking like an undead Billy Idol.

This was what he'd been participating in. This was how he'd been helping keep America safe. Helping to kidnap creatures… people that had been hiding in the edges of society, shocking them and dragging them away so that they could be cut open like frogs in a freshman biology class.

This was not what he'd joined the Army to do.

As he sat in the chair staring at the files, Forrest wondered if there was anything that could be done to stop this. To keep the horrors that had been done from spreading. If there was any way that he could look at himself in the mirror without cringing. Was this how some of the German soldiers had felt after World War Two? Shocked and betrayed at what had been done by the orders of their own leaders?

"Agent Gates? Have you found anything that will help recapture the escaped HST's?" Walsh's voice was dead, as always.

"I haven't gone through all the files, of course." His voice sounded oddly calm, almost as empty as Professor Walsh's did. "But there appears to be a high number that either lair or feed in the cemeteries. The warehouses are also fairly busy, but I think Tony said something about a lot of shipping expected soon, and it might cause some complications if the teams have to avoid large shipments of manufactured goods and chemicals."

"Do you think the chemical shipments could be hazardous to our teams?" There was curiosity in her voice, and a hint of something else, something that he couldn't name.

"If they follow all the safety laws and regulations for the shipment and packaging of chemicals, no. But I've noticed that the enforcement of a lot of laws and regulations seems a bit lax with some of the businesses. Lights and security systems aren't repaired promptly, there's a high rate of empty buildings, and the police department…" Forrest trailed off, unable to find the right words for the Sunnydale Police.

"True. While those very things have made our operations here considerably simpler, it would be an unneeded health complication." She nodded and walked away, her heels clicking on the hallway.

He sighed, and looked at the files once again. There had to be something that he could do about this. He was fairly smart, and on his way through a college education in addition to his military training, he had to be able to find a solution. Somehow.

End part 41.


	17. parts 42 to 44

"Tara?" Jean's voice was soft, as if she didn't want to startle her.

"Is there something I can help with?" Tara asked, smiling hesitantly. She was fairly certain that between herself, Charlie and the guy that Scott and Buffy had gone to talk to, that accounted for the three mutants that they'd been looking for. But Jean didn't look quite calm.

"You said that you could find someone that you know. Can you look for Mystique?" Jean kept her voice low.

"You're worried about what she's planning." Tara murmured, uneasy about that very question. "I really don't know her, so if she's gone too far away, I won't be able to find her."

"Anything that you can get would be more than we have now," Jean admitted. "She's devious, resourceful, and doesn't seem to have any loyalties beyond herself. She could be up to anything."

Tara nodded, and moved to settle as comfortably as possible at the table they used for researching demons and prophecies. Closing her eyes, she focused on memories of blue scales and short red hair, of someone who moved with the unnerving flexibility of a snake. She fixed the image in her mind and pushed at the corner that brought forth visions, asking the question – where is she?

For a moment, Tara felt like the world was spinning around her, and then there was a sensation of movement, of being pulled very fast towards something. The Magic Box and awareness of her body and Jean faded away, and for a moment, there was only blurs of color and light, a sensation of motion. She hated that part of the intense visions…

Things slowly came into focus, the blurs resolving themselves into a bland hotel room with closed curtains. Inside, there was a soldier and a blond man with a leather coat. The blond man was sitting on the bed, rubbing at the back of his head, while the soldier was pacing.

"Why am I here?" The blond growled, his eyes flickering from blue to yellow and back to blue.

"Do you have any idea how hard you were to track down?" The soldier's voice sounded wrong somehow, almost like there was an overlap of tones. "What could possibly have brought you to this miserable place?"

"I was looking…" For a moment, the blond looked puzzled, and then he stood up, demanding, "Wait a minute, what's going on, Raven?"

"We're running out of time, William. California is a long ways away, and not everyone has forever like you do." The voice was shifting with every word, sounding less and less like something that should emerge from a solidly muscled male soldier. Actually, the voice sounded rather female.

"Time for what?" The blond that had been called William snarled, his face changing to a vampire's ridges and yellow eyes. "Talk plain for once!"

"We need you for this. It's a family matter, and she's running out of time. How long do people generally have, William?" The soldier blurred and shrank, resolving into a blue woman in a white sundress. "We need to get you to her before it's too late to save her."

"You're talking about…" The ridges and fangs faded, replaced by a look of concern. "It's not the Watchers again, is it?"

"No, not this time." The blue woman sighed, and sat on the bed. "You don't age, and I don't have to, but Irene…"

Hands touched her, breaking Tara's concentration. She gasped, blinking dry eyes as she found her awareness firmly back at the Magic Box. Scott and Buffy were standing there, and when had they got back anyhow?

"Tara, what happened to you?" Buffy was still shaking her shoulder.

"Stop shaking me…" Tara protested, trying to fight back the disorientation before it became nausea. That had been strong, and intense, and her head was throbbing. "I was looking elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" Buffy repeated, releasing Tara's shoulder. "Looking for what? Jean said they'd figured out who all the mutants they were looking for are, so…"

"Mystique. She was in a hotel room with a blond vampire. He had blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, a black leather coat and black jeans. He sounded," Tara paused, trying to find a way to explain what she'd seen. "He's not from around here, maybe New England? Or maybe he's British. She called him William, and said something about them running out of time. She'd had to track him down."

"Track him down for what?" Buffy asked, looking thoughtful. "A blond vampire with a black leather coat… short hair, bleached very blond?"

"Yeah, sort of like Billy Idol, only with fangs." Tara shivered, and closed her eyes. She was really wishing that Buffy hadn't snapped her out of her vision like that. "I don't know what she wanted him for, but it's far away, and time sensitive."

Tara could hear Scott talking softly with Jean, and she just let her head rest against the table, eyes closed. There was something about the vision that felt different than normal, and she wanted to figure it out. The feeling wasn't the same as most visions, even others that were very intense, but it was a familiar difference, something that she'd felt before, often enough not to worry.

"… could be Spike!" Buffy's voice was getting louder. "The bleached hair, the leather coat, the accent, who else could it be?"

Tara placed her hands over her ears, trying to shut out the world. That familiar feeling, it was important. It reminded her of something… She felt a chill go over her as she finally realized where that familiarity came from. It was the same sort of different feeling that she got when she 'looked' at one of her relatives. That meant that she was either related to a blue mutant shape-shifter, or a bleached blond vampire. Honestly, Tara wasn't certain which of the two would be a better option.

Something else was nagging at her. The shape-shifter had mentioned Irene. No, she'd said the name and was about to say something else, something about Irene. The reason that she was looking for William was something about Irene, and she was afraid that they would run out of time. Mystique, whom the vampire had called Raven, had seemed genuinely worried about running out of time.

"Buffy? Scott?" Tara spoke, the sound of her voice making her head spin again. "Whatever it is that had Raven… Mystique looking for this vampire William, it doesn't have anything to do with Sunnydale. I think maybe we should focus on what is going on here, like the hordes of demons, the soldiers, the guys in suits hunting Charlie…"

"When you put it like that, I guess we do have enough problems here." Buffy sighed, "It's just… If that vampire is Spike, he's trouble."

"But they're leaving." Tara pointed out. "Doesn't that mean that if he's going to be causing problems, they'll be problems somewhere else?"

"As much trouble as Spike has caused in the past, Tara does have a good point. There are quite a few other problems to consider that are not going away from Sunnydale." Giles commented, placing a cup of tea and a pair of Tylenol in front of Tara. "Those might help the headache, and I have some cream for the tea if you'd like."

"Thanks, Giles." Tara offered, accepting both the tea and the Tylenol gratefully.

Concentrating on sipping the tea slowly enough not to make her stomach rebel and feel like throwing up again, Tara let their words wash over her. There were quite a few real problems in Sunnydale. She was particularly worried about the soldiers that had been capturing creatures. She'd already had two visions connecting to that, and that wasn't very reassuring. If they started to work with the guys in suits after Charlie…

Why had she ever decided to come to Sunnydale in the first place?

End part 42.

Rupert Giles considered the situation. Tara was entirely correct when she'd said that they still had more than enough to worry about even if they didn't include Spike. Unfortunately, he was almost positive that the matters would be difficult to impossible to resolve without including Buffy's boyfriend the soldier. Looking over at his Slayer, he sighed, amending his thought. They would probably be able to come up with something, but if they could find some of the soldiers that might cooperate, they had a better chance of a solution before more people died.

"We shall simply have to compare information with Riley, in hopes of averting further problems before they become disasters." He picked up his tea, taking a sip before continuing. "However, I am reluctant to permit them to learn of the full extent of our abilities and contacts."

"Giles! Riley's a good guy, I'd know if my boyfriend was some sort of evil fiend!" Buffy's protest didn't quite have her full enthusiasm behind it.

Tactfully, he did not remind her of the Angelus fiasco. None of them had known about the clause in his soul-restoration, and he had been trying to help them with his soul. Remembering another of her past romantic interests, he commented, "The name Billy Fordham does come to mind."

"That so doesn't count," Buffy protested.

Resisting the urge to smile, he sipped at his tea again. "Mmm. Still, this time, there are secrets involved that are not ours to disclose. Should your judgment be slightly biased or should Riley let something slip to the other people involved in whatever he's doing in uniform, I wish to minimize the possible trouble."

"What plan do you have?" Scott asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

"After your encounter with the soldiers on patrol, they are aware that Buffy is the Slayer and that you are her cousin. So far, we can hope that that is all they know. I suggest that we meet with Riley at my apartment, without the rest of our friends present." He looked around, noticing the interest on the faces of everybody except Tara, who looked as if she was busy fighting nausea.

"Anya needs to stay here and run the store. Tara looks rather unwell, she might wish to stay here in the back room where it is quiet. Charlie and Jean might wish to stay here with them, partly to remain unobserved and partly…" With a sigh, he looked at Buffy. "I think Joyce had some other plans, so she wouldn't be at her home. We think that Charlie was unobserved on the way here, but if she goes out again, there is a chance that her stalkers might locate her."

"And you think that the less they know about the rest of us, the safer we might be if trusting them is a mistake." Jean added, rubbing at her temple.

"That and the unpleasant fact that if trusting them is a mistake, there will be enough people to either attempt a rescue or get at least someone out of Sunnydale." He spoke grimly, well aware of the risks of life over a Hellmouth. "Charlie already has one group of people after her, it would be best not to add to them. If Charlie's pursuit is due to an unhealthy government interest in psychic phenomena, Jean should also stay beneath their notice. As for Xander, it might be good to have a little more help on hand if unfortunate events should befall anybody here."

"Practical, if not comforting," Scott observed. "So, why your apartment, instead of somewhere neutral?"

"First, the apartment in somewhere that we control, a place where not only would we be able to locate something that does not belong if there is anything left behind, but a place where we can be fairly confident that we won't be accidentally overheard. Secondly, I have a great many books on demons there, which should be of use if we must convince them that we do know what we're talking about. There is also the fact that if they are involved with the military, it would be a ridiculously simple matter for them to find out where I live." He finished his cup of tea and set it down on the table.

"Besides that, you're listed in the phone book." Buffy chimed in.

"Yes, well…" Giles stammered, "You have a point."

"If that's decided, then perhaps Buffy can call Riley on her cellular, and we can arrange for him to meet the three of us at my apartment." Glancing at Buffy, he added, "I'd prefer that he came alone, by the way."

"Yeah, I got that." She grinned, and walked a short ways apart to make the call.

There were the obligatory sappy greetings, and a few long silences before Buffy actually got to the part that seemed to have a point. "So, Riley, I was wondering if you could come visit tonight."

"No, not at the dorm, I want to introduce you to someone. Giles is like my dad, except not my dad. He's the guy who's been there for me since my parents split up." Buffy was blushing a little.

"I think seven would be good." Buffy was smiling again, and started to give Riley directions to get to the apartment from the campus.

"Well, I suppose that's one thing set into motion. How did your talk with the young man go?" He looked at Scott.

"He was a bit suspicious at first. He even made a point of telling us that we weren't invited into his garage, and that it counted as part of the house." Scott shrugged in confusion. "But he seemed interested, and unless he changes his mind, I think he'll go with us. Justin said he was hoping to be able to work on aircraft as a profession."

"Yes, vampires are unable to enter a person's residence without a verbal invitation. It sounds as if Justin is aware of at least some aspects of Sunnydale's more colorful inhabitants." Rupert sighed, his mind wondering what sad circumstances had won the young man that painful bit of truth.

"I get that Scott and Jean are part of a school for mutants. I don't get you and Buffy." Charlie was looking at him with wary eyes. "What do you do here that makes you willing to hide me from your own government?"

"First off, they bloody well aren't part of my government, I'm British." He retorted, noting a few concealed snickers. "As for what Buffy and I do, the world is not solely inhabited by humans, and I'm including mutants as part of humanity. There are also demons, and a great many of those count human as a regular part of their diet. Buffy is the Slayer, chosen by, well, destiny or fate to fight against those demons and vampires. However, as Slayers are chosen when they are teenage girls, someone needs to be there to help them identify the demons and determine the best ways to kill the dangerous ones before they can kill more people. Those 'someone's are called Watchers, and I am Buffy's Watcher."

"You said Slayers get Watchers, but you also called Buffy the Slayer. Which is it?" Charlie asked.

"There's one Slayer," Buffy interrupted. "Giles, I have to go to college, I have a class. Riley's supposed to be over at seven, so I'll be there at six, okay? Okay, and I'll see you later."

Rupert waited until Buffy had left the room before turning back to Charlie. Scott was looking particularly interested as well. "There is one Slayer at a time. When she… dies, another is chosen. The determination of the next Slayer is not in the hands of men and women, but fate. Buffy has done a rather remarkable job as a Slayer."

"How often do Slayers die?" Scott asked, his glasses glowing faintly.

"It's quite unusual for any of them to make it to twenty. Most don't live to see eighteen." Rupert admitted. "Buffy has the advantage of friends and family who are willing to help her, and the past four years have proven to me that a Slayer with support is stronger than a Slayer alone."

Unhappy silence filled the back room. Pouring himself another cup of tea, Rupert sighed and poured one for Jean as well. The rest of the afternoon was going to be very long.

End part 43.

Riley tugged on his jacket as he stepped out the door. Buffy wanted to introduce him to the guy who was as close as she still had to a father… Either things were progressing a lot faster than he'd expected or he was about to be in a lot of trouble. Remembering the way that he'd bumped into Buffy and her cousin on patrol and the suspicious glares and hurt looks that Buffy had shot his way, he suspected trouble.

"Finn! Can I get a lift?" Forrest was there, looking much too casual to be planning a night of dancing and trying to pick up women. "I need coffee and quiet, and you can't get the last one here."

"I guess so," Riley agreed, walking to his jeep. "A coffee might not hurt me either."

Forrest didn't say anything until they were almost to the Espresso Pump. "So, what's wrong with you?"

"Buffy wants me to meet her father-figure," Riley muttered. "Considering how happy she was the last time we saw her…"

"Damn." Forrest glanced out the window and then back at Riley. "You buy me a coffee and I'll go with you. That way either I can run interference while you run for your life or throw off their plan long enough for you to grovel at her feet."

"It's a deal," Riley agreed. He felt a little guilty about bringing Forrest along, but friends were there for each other. "So, what has you feeling out of sorts?"

"Stop analyzing me." Forrest glared, but it was only half-hearted. "I've been going through the reports on the last few captures, and Walsh asked me to come up with some suggestions for recapture strategies. It's been some ugly reading."

"How bad?" Riley looked over, concerned for his friend. There had been something in his voice, something that wasn't right.

His questions were put on hold while they bought coffee, and Riley waited until they were moving again. "How bad, Forrest?"

"Some of them died on the table with the doctors poking at their insides." His voice was tight, and he looked into his coffee cup. "Some of them might be mutants."

"Oh…" Riley couldn't think of a word vile enough for that. "Mutants being treated the same as some demon that's been trying to eat kids?"

"Ri, some of that stuff would be uncalled for even if it was on some ugly demon eating kids." Forrest took a swallow of his coffee, apparently not noticing the near-scalding temperature. "This is stuff that would have fit right in with Hitler's guys. I looked at the medical records on some of the ones that died. They got tested to death. Opened up, prodded, electrical current to measure nerve sensitivity and reaction time… The whole works."

Riley blinked, and let that stew for a few moments. Something about the medical testing… "How do they know that the painkillers for surgery won't have weird interactions with their systems?"

"They aren't using any." Forrest's voice was grim. "We're grabbing anything that looks different, kidnapping them, and letting our scientists torture them to death."

"That's…" Riley shook his head. "That's not what we're supposed to be doing. We're…"

"Supposed to be defending people. Hunting demons so they aren't a danger, like that patrol that Buffy and her cousin joined. Not going mad-scientist on everybody around us." Forrest was scowling. "One of the ones that escaped had blood-work almost identical to Tyler's. He was just a different blood type. It all came back human."

"Why wasn't he released?" The question hung in the air as they parked at the apartment center. Somehow, Riley didn't think he'd like the answer.

"He was a big guy with claws who objected to getting jumped by a pack of soldiers." Forrest replied. "Now, maybe we should see if your girlfriend the Slayer can figure out a way to help stop this?"

"That sounds like a good plan." Riley took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the apartment. Hopefully, Mr. Giles wasn't too angry.

The door opened slowly, and for a few moments, Mr. Giles just looked at him and Forrest, as if he was a drill sergeant inspecting troops. "We've been expecting you, though Forrest – that is your friend's name, isn't it? Forrest was a slight surprise."

Riley stepped inside, a small part of him noticing that the man hadn't actually invited them. It seemed odd. Maybe he should start on a more neutral topic. "Is Buffy still angry about me missing that study-date?"

"Probably a little." Mr. Giles closed the door behind them, locking it firmly. "There are larger matters than a broken date."

Riley glanced around, seeing Buffy in a chair and her cousin Scott on the end of a worn couch. Buffy didn't look very happy, and his heart sank a little. "Does this have to do with demons and vampires?"

Buffy nodded. "Why don't you guys sit down," It wasn't an invitation or a question.

Riley sighed, and folded into the chair. "I had no idea things at the Initiative were this bad. We were supposed to be protecting people."

"What was the definition of 'people' that you were given?" Scott's question was sharp, and he almost visibly kept himself from growling.

"The citizens of the United States of America." Forrest snapped, and then sat down with a sigh. "This… what they're doing isn't what they said they'd do. It wasn't what they told us we were doing, and it isn't right. There was a mutant in the cells when there was that… mass release."

Riley blinked as he realized that the other people didn't seem quite as surprised by this as he'd expected. "And is there a reason that I was the only one shocked to hear this?"

Buffy shrugged, and admitted, "Someone that we know met the escaped mutant. His name's Vic, and he's got a display up in my mom's art gallery. Apparently, he used to be in the military. That whole kidnapping by camouflage soldiers thing made him miss a date with my mom, and thanks to the whole Hellmouthy sympathy card, they made a second one."

Riley had the oddest impression that Buffy was more upset, though not precisely angry, at her mother dating someone than the missed study date. Buffy's mom had a date with the seven foot mutant with claws… and said mutant had an art showing? "Okay, that's weird."

"From the picture in the file, I wouldn't have expected an artist. Unless…" Forrest chuckled, shaking his head. "Is it a sculpture exhibit?"

"Abstract paintings." Buffy shrugged, before muttering, "And I still don't know why that abstract thing gets to be art. The teachers I had always wanted to be able to recognize the fruits in the bowl or the person we were supposed to draw."

"Focus, Buffy." Mr. Giles commented, pulling down a book. "The military is unlikely to be the right group to deal with demonic threats. They are, undoubtedly, too bound by standard procedures. How would they explain to the people in the government the need for wooden stakes and bronze knives?"

"I know wooden stakes are supposed to work for vampires," Riley hesitated, thinking about how much from the scattering of horror movies had been proven real and how much had been wrong. "but what's this about bronze knives?"

"There's a whole group of demon species that are unaffected by iron or steel weapons. They have a rather leathery skin, so most wooden weapons are of limited effectiveness, stones are blasted heavy to cart around, and bone weapons tend to be unfortunately brittle." Mr. Giles pulled out a solid, old looking tome and flipped it open before handing it to Riley. "Here we are, complete with illustrations."

"I think we had one of those." Riley blinked, staring at the open pages, complete with a rather unappealing drawing of something that looked rather like a humanoid rat-snake. "The tazers stunned it, and I think it was one of the ones that escaped. Are they dangerous?"

"They tend to be rather skittish in the presence of humans, though they are omnivorous. They have a fondness for mutton, which tends to make sheep-herding communities react rather badly." Shaking his head, Mr. Giles took the book back away. "Hunting demons is not only dangerous but often requires specialized tools."

"Okay, hunting demons is dangerous and the military probably isn't properly prepared." Riley admitted, thinking of all the times they'd wondered what a particular HST was and how to stop them. "What can we do about it, and how can we stop them from picking up mutants? Since you seem to know so much other stuff, what's going on with that shape-shifter?"

Scott spoke up, his voice showing disappointment. "We have a few methods to try to locate her, regardless of shape, but they're still not one hundred percent reliable. Either both methods missed her, or she'd left Sunnydale by now. If she has left, then her plans for your base are either done, or the next step doesn't require her presence at all, which is generally a bad thing."

Shivering, Riley muttered, "I don't find that very reassuring."

"These methods, do they only detect shape-shifters, or can you find any mutant?" Forrest asked, looking directly at Scott.

"We have a variety of methods, but we don't turn mutants in to the government." Scott replied, not quite answering Forrest's question.

"If you can, there's a mutant I want you to find. His name is Ben Canavan, he'd be twenty seven years old, and he can make little glowing balls of light." Forrest was staring right at Scott.

"Why do you want to find him?" Scott glared back, his sunglasses looking like they were glowing.

"He's my cousin. I don't even know if he's still alive, I haven't seen him in years. There was… the hospital wouldn't treat him, and his mom took him away. I haven't seen either one of them since." Forrest spoke slowly, his voice having that particular edge that Riley knew he was barely holding his temper in check. "Some of us like to know if our relatives are okay, and I haven't heard a single word about him in twelve years."

Scott looked away, most likely the only apology that he'd give. "I can see if we can learn anything, though there might be… If he's dead, we probably won't be able to find him. If we do find him, I'll make sure he knows that you're worried."

"So, how do we stop military demon hunters from going after mutants? Or from doing way freaky nasty experiments?" Buffy's voice interrupted the quiet.

"I know some people with good reputations in scientific communities, if you can get something out there, they could speak against it." Scott had the tone of someone thinking out loud. "He might be able to convince a few people to listen, even if he has to mention a few things they'd rather he didn't. And there's that one reporter… The problem is how to get the information out there to horrify the masses."

"Most of the records are on the computers, but it's a closed system. You can't access it from outside." Forrest mused.

"But what if we got a hacker with a laptop down there, someone with that whole wireless internet connection?" Buffy asked, bouncing in the chair. "Couldn't she… I mean, the hacker send stuff out to places?"

"Buffy…" Mr. Giles paused, polishing his glasses. "Apart from the matter of whatever equipment difficulties there would be, how exactly do you propose to get a hacker, a sort of person not generally known for their physical abilities, into a secured and secret military base and out again safely? Especially considering that the places that would be required to get the information in question are sure to be guarded if not in use?"

"Ummm… I'll get back to you when we have a plan for that." Buffy slumped a little. "Maybe these guys can help with that."

"Two words for that," Forrest grumbled. "Court martial."

"It would be asking a great deal of them to expect them to openly defy their direct orders in such a way, Buffy." Mr. Giles leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "I assume that the two of you have been told to recapture the escaped demons?"

"Yes." Riley blinked, wondering at the apparent change of Mr. Giles words. First they'd been saying that they wouldn't help turn mutants in, and now… No, he'd specifically said demons. The man had to be up to something.

"So, is it safe to assume that you and the majority of the other soldiers involved are supposed to be searching for the dangerous escapees? Such that most of your people would be out patrolling?" The man probed a little harder.

"That's right… are you planning something?" Riley was starting to get a suspicion.

"Considering plausible deniability, it might simply be best if, say, Buffy were to have some way of contacting you if she were to discover a large gathering of demons in one place. Of course, such a gathering would require more than just one or two soldiers to take them back to the base." The man's smile didn't look at all scholarly.

Riley blinked, remembering what Buffy had said about people arranging a diversion from where they really wanted to strike. If most of the soldiers were gathering a group of demons, then who would be guarding the base? Part of him wanted to object, wanted to maintain base security, but he reminded himself of what Forrest had said. Mutants captured, creatures attacked simply for looking different, subjects literally taken apart on the operating table. He didn't say a word, simply nodding.

Forrest nodded thoughtfully. "Let me write down Finn's contact for you. I'll give you all his numbers so he can't hide too easily."

Riley was able to see that there appeared to be three telephone numbers and something else written on the scrap of paper. After a few moment, he realized that it was a radio frequency. Damn, Forrest was sneaky, if Buffy knew a hacker, it should be simple for her to locate everyone transmitting on a specific frequency, which Forrest had just thoughtfully given them. At some point in the pretty near future, he suspected there would be a large group of HST's discovered…

"Forrest, I think they've got everything in hand, we'd best get back to grading those papers." Riley stood up, and gave a nod towards both Mr. Giles and Scott. "I suppose we'll be seeing you again sometime."

"Riley?" Buffy's voice sounded a little uncertain, and she was just there, standing up on her tip-toes to give him a soft kiss. "Be careful."

Oh yeah, they had everything in hand.

"Wrapped around her little finger, Riley." Forrest muttered, smirking.

"Shut up, Forrest."

End part 44.


	18. parts 45 and 46

Buffy sighed as Riley and Forrest left. "I guess we already knew that things going on in their secret base were ugly. It just… Why can't I ever find a nice, normal guy with no freaky hidden secrets? Not a vampire, or someone planning to use me as a bargaining chip, or an undercover soldier, just a nice normal guy?"

"What about Xander?" Scott asked, a half smile on his face.

"Xander? He's…" Buffy paused, trying to find the words to describe her friend. "Xander's great, and I couldn't ask for a better friend, but he's not what I'm looking for. Not serious enough, I guess."

"A normal, unsuspecting young man wouldn't stand a chance, Buffy. Either he'd run screaming, or your world would chew him up and hopefully spit out the pieces." Giles commented, returning the demon tome to the shelf.

Buffy sighed, knowing that Giles was probably right. "Have I ever mentioned that destiny sucks?"

"Frequently." Giles turned to look at her, his expression calm. "I think you should go patrol. Pay special attention to places that either currently or could soon become the base for a large number of vampires or demons. After tonight's revelations, I think we need to take some time to plan with clear heads. Take someone with you to watch your back."

"Yeah, okay. Vamps to stake, demons to kill…" Buffy moved towards the weapons, debating which cemeteries to patrol, and if she should make a sweep of the beach. Maybe the warehouses, there were enough empty ones that the baddies tended to hang out there. "Should I take a bronze knife in case of that rat-snaky thing Riley said they lost?"

"You might as well. It will work nicely against most demons, and while that particular type aren't known to prey on humans, they can be quite vicious if cornered." Giles was making a careful inspection of the places where Riley and Forrest had been standing.

"I thought that sort of went with being all demony?" Buffy asked, glancing at her Watcher. For a moment, she wondered if he'd lost something, but then decided that he must be checking to see if Riley or Forrest had dropped anything. Like listening devices, or directions to their secret base.

"Often, yes. Go forth and slay, I think I have things in hand here." Giles waved her towards the door.

"Cool!" Buffy grabbed Scott's arm and towed him outside, pausing at the car. "Do you think we should ask Jean if she wants to go with us for patrol?"

"I think we should at least check in with her, or else I'll have to spend the next week explaining to her why we didn't," Scott sighed. "Maybe one of your friends would want to go?"

Buffy glanced up, her eyes lingering on the nearly full moon. "Willow and Oz will be trying to get in some quality snuggles. We don't want to know what Xander and Anya will be doing if she gets her hands on him, and given the chance, she might tell us in graphic detail. She even tried to draw up a diagram once."

"A diagram?" Scott sounded like he hoped that he'd heard her wrong. "A diagram of what?"

"I didn't look," Buffy confessed. "She scares me sometimes. Not the threat to life and limb sort of scared, but the 'dear God, what will come out of her mouth next' kind of scared."

Scott snickered the whole trip to the Magic Box.

Somehow, Buffy wasn't surprised that Xander's car was gone. The striped van that Oz drove was still there, so it was probably safe to assume that somebody was still there. Tugging at the door, Buffy discovered that apparently, Anya had locked up before leaving for the required sex-a-thon. "Good thing that I have a key."

Buffy opened the door, and she and Scott quietly moved to the back room. Jean and Tara were both focused on a notebook, murmuring to each other as they pointed to various places on the page. Charlie was leafing though one of the big books of demons, her expression one of horrified fascination.

"Hey, we're done with the big pow-wow," Buffy commented. "Care to help with a patrol?"

Jean looked up, shaking her head. "Tara and I are trying to work out as much as we can about the base and its floor plan."

"And the pair of you can do this when neither of you have ever been there?" Buffy blinked, thinking that the whole idea sounded crazy.

"Clairvoyant, remember?" Tara mumbled, blushing. "I can look where I'm not, if it's close enough. Willow was right, they're underneath the college, though I haven't been able to figure out all the details of how they're getting in and out."

"I've been helping her focus and get details," Jean added.

"I've just been killing time. These books… you really have to fight these things?" Charlie dropped the book onto the table, wiping her hands on her jeans.

"Yeah…" Buffy nodded, grabbing a few stakes. "Want to come along?"

"Sounds good to me," Charlie smirked. "And I think that book said that vampires were flammable, so this shouldn't be a big deal."

Buffy blinked, wondering if Charlie was being overconfident. Then again, hadn't she said something about starting fires? "Most vamps don't really hold still for people to toss matches at them, and it takes a little more than that to burn them out."

"Who said anything about asking them to hold still?" Charlie smirked, walking towards the door.

"Okay, whatever you say, let's get out there patrolling." Buffy said, motioning for them to follow her.

End part 45.

Charlie followed Scott and Buffy, feeling glad to get out of the back room. Granted, they'd all tried to be helpful, and none of them had seemed like they were a danger, but it bothered her to stay inside for so long. She glanced at Buffy, remembering what Mr. Giles had said about Slayers, and how Buffy would be considered very lucky to survive to twenty. He'd looked so sad at that idea, and Scott had looked angry. Angry that his cousin was in danger; angry that she risked her life.

It gave her a better feeling about this school of his. The special place for mutants that he was trying to convince her to go away and attend. She'd seen the redhead float a cup of tea over, and seen the way that Scott's glasses had glowed, and they were definitely different. Jean had talked a little more about the school, mentioning a girl who could shoot energy puffs, like fireworks, from her hands, another who could scream almost as loud as a jet engine, and about a boy who could make things freeze by thinking about the cold. It sounded like a place where she might fit in. Or at least, where she might not be too much out of place.

"Scott? The students at your school…" Charlie thought about some of the accidents that she'd had when she was younger. "Do any of them have dangerous powers?"

"I guess that depends on how your defining dangerous," Scott replied, his words slow. Maybe he was thinking about the right words for his explanation, maybe he was trying to protect the other students. "There are so many mutant abilities, and most of the students are still pretty young. They can't always control what they can do. Even something relatively harmless can cause problems; Kitty sometimes fries electronics because she touched them wrong. Marie hasn't figured out how to control her power yet, she can't really touch people. Logan… I don't even know where to begin with Logan."

"Who's Logan?" Charlie asked.

"He's someone that we found, someone who needed help. He's got…" Scott paused, rethinking what he was about to say. "Things were done to him, and now he has claws. Unfortunately, he also has a foul temper and nightmares."

"Nightmares don't sound that bad," Charlie whispered.

"He had a nightmare, and when someone tried to wake him up, she got skewered." Scott scowled, and then added in a softer voice, "He didn't mean to, and he felt horrible. She's alright now, but it still happened."

Buffy tilted her head, hand moving towards a stake. "Hey, we're about to be surrounded. Four, maybe five vamps."

"The students…" Charlie looked over at Scott, needing the answer, hoping that it would be the same that they'd given her earlier in the day. Hoping that it would stay the same after tonight. "They're still welcome, even if they can do dangerous things? Have dangerous abilities?"

"Yes." Scott looked around, finally facing a shape moving towards them with a strangely wrinkled face and sharp teeth. "The Professor calls our abilities gifts."

A pair of figures lunged at Buffy, both snarling with the same yellow eyes and fangs. The one that Scott had been facing growled, and launched a clumsy attack. Buffy stabbed one with her stake, and the body crumbled to dust while she kicked the other one away.

Charlie turned, seeing a pair of grinning vampires. Both of them were taller than she was, and had sharp teeth stained a nasty yellowed color, flecked with rust. Hands reached towards her.

She could feel fear inside of her, the urge to run away and hide. The fear fed the fire inside, making it froth and bubble. She took one slow step backwards. "You don't want to do this."

"Yes we do." The words were barely more than a snarl, and then the vampire leered at her, "Maybe we can play first. Do you play nice, girlie?"

She focused her will, and touched a little of the power. Remembering the early lessons, she focused inside the middle of them, and pushed. "Don't call me girlie."

The vampire on the left stopped, one hand moving to touch his stomach, a puzzled, "Heartburn? But I'm a vampire…"

Both of them burst into flames, ashes before they had a chance to even scream.

She'd expected them to be as hard to ignite as a cinderblock, or maybe more like firewood, but they had burned so easily. She could still feel the fire crackling inside, begging to be released, to burn. "I could do that all night."

"John's going to love her," Scott muttered.

"Nifty," Buffy smiled, the stake vanishing into her jacket. "On to the cemeteries then. That would make cleaning up the demon bodies so much easier…"

"It doesn't bother you?" Charlie blinked, expecting something a bit more. People were always afraid of what she could do, afraid of what would happen if she became too angry, or if she lost control.

"It's got a bit more range, but hey, I can knock down steel doors." Buffy shrugged. "I'm not so good with the whole normal life thing anymore. I'd have probably freaked out a few years back, but hey, I kill vampires, I used to date a vampire, my friend's a witch dating a werewolf, and my other friend's dating an ex-demon."

"My girlfriend can read my mind, and her best friend can control the weather well enough to call down a precisely placed lightning bolt on someone's head." Scott shrugged. "It's impressive, but you're still welcome to go to our school."

Charlie blinked, repeating, "Targeted lightning bolts? And Jean… she's a mind-reader?"

"That tends to make people nervous," Scott commented. "Like I said, we get all kinds of gifts. One boy only seems to have two differences, he doesn't sleep, and he can change the channel on the television by blinking at it."

Charlie considered that as they walked into a cemetery. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all. She certainly didn't sound like the strangest person anymore.

End part 46.


	19. parts 47 to 49

Joyce was still smiling as she unlocked the door to her house. It had been a while since her last date, and Ted had turned out to be a rather bad experience overall. So far, Vic was much better. Granted, when she'd sat around daydreaming about Mr. Right, she hadn't considered that he might be a seven foot tall mutant with claws, but she'd never expected that her daughter would be the Vampire Slayer either. Sometimes, life just didn't go the way you expected.

"You seem to be in a good mood," Jean commented. "I can feel it from here."

"My date was very nice," Joyce commented. "For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like I was just Buffy's mom, or the owner of an art gallery, or someone to pay for Buffy's college."

"But… you went out with Sabertooth. How nice can things have been?" Jean paused, struggling for words. "I have a hard time picturing him as a charming date."

"Maybe he's a bit rough around the edges, but I'm not dealing with him in the same situation that you were. We didn't discuss genetics, or politics, or holding police stations hostage. There was a bit of debate about the merits of lobster versus fish, but that's hardly worth getting that worked up over." Joyce smiled, settling into her chair. "He made me feel pretty."

"I can understand how nice that feels," Jean admitted.

For a moment, there was quiet, and then a cup of hot cocoa floated over to Joyce. Taking the mug, Joyce smiled at the tiny reminder that despite how ordinary Jean could seem, she wasn't quite normal. Then again, Jean seemed like a nice girl, and normal was a synonym for boring. "Thank you for the cocoa."

"Scott isn't going to be happy that your date went well," Jean murmured, and then shook her head. "There's something very backwards sounding about that."

"I know," Joyce confessed. "Buffy's still holding out a bit of hope that I'll get back together with Hank. The chances of that happening are… rather less than winning the lottery and getting hit by lightning."

"I thought that was 'or' when people say those sort of things," Jean observed.

"I meant 'and'. Things quite thoroughly fell apart, and it was a mess that we tried to hide from Buffy. She knew about the fighting, but I don't think she knew about Hank's affairs. I became appallingly suspicious, though in my defense, he was cheating. Given everything that happened, I don't think I could ever trust him enough to marry Hank again, and he's made it pretty clear that he'd like someone a bit less demanding, and much younger." Joyce, sighed, and looked up. "The last affair before the divorce was with someone who was only a sophomore in college."

"Mid-life crisis?" Jean hazarded.

"Maybe. I don't really care why. Things are over, I'm just hoping that we can stay close to civil, for Buffy's sake." Joyce shrugged. "Maybe things with Vic will work out wonderfully, and Buffy will have a step-father. Maybe they won't, and he'll go on his way. I want to find out."

"I guess that makes sense," Jean commented. "Of course, if things go bad, he'll probably have Buffy and Scott both chasing after him, intent on beating him up in your defense."

Joyce chuckled, amused at the image of her baby girl beating up someone that much bigger. Of course, as a Slayer, Buffy was entirely capable of such a thing, but still… "It's nice to have people who worry about me."

"Of course, they're both out hunting vampires right now. How do you stand it?" Jean asked, looking at Joyce.

"Very badly," Joyce admitted. "I worry about Buffy all the time, though I think it's a little better if she's not out alone."

"I hope they come back soon," Jean fretted.

"I know you do," Joyce murmured, sipping at her cocoa. "I hope they'll be back soon too, hopefully with nothing worse than a few scrapes and bruises.

End part 47.

"Xander?"

Anya's voice dragged Xander out of his pleasantly warm almost-sleep. Yawning, he propped himself up on his elbow, and tried to find her in the darkness. "Huh?"

"That large man with the claws. The one who's not a demon, he's a mutant? How does he fit into your family?" Anya's voice held uncertainty, and she settled on the bed near him, one hand holding his fingers.

"I guess it depends on how you're looking at it," Xander mumbled, trying to make himself wake up. Talking to Anya when half asleep could be dangerous, more than once he'd apparently agreed to do things that he knew he would have refused if he'd been thinking clearly.

"What do you mean, it depends. Either he's part of the family or he's not, how many options do you have?" Anya's fingers followed his arm, sliding over bare skin.

"He's not an actual relative. None of my direct generations back had him as their kid, or their brother, or their daddy." Xander moved, sitting up in the bed so that he wouldn't fall asleep, and then reaching back out, hoping that he could find her hand again.

"Then why did you call him your uncle?" Anya asked, giggling as his fingers brushed over soft flesh that wasn't a hand.

"He was involved with my aunt for a while. I thought it was pretty serious, she even dragged him to family gatherings," Xander remembered, considering how he'd thought that Vic was a giant of a man, and how much better he'd seemed than most of Sue's men. "I was hoping that they'd stay together."

"Did they get married?" Anya's voice was soft, thoughtful. "Or were they just orgasm buddies?"

"Glrrr…" Xander shuddered as his mind tried to go to a very scary visual place with his Aunt Sue, minus clothing, and some of her scummy guys doing things. "I don't ever want to think of my Aunt Sue and orgasms in the same sentence again. Keeping in mind that I was only about seven, and at that age I had no real understanding of sex and orgasms… I think they were serious. They were together for almost a year, which is sort of a record for her. I have no idea why they split up."

"So, you just decided that he was someone interesting, and you wanted to keep him?" Anya's fingers were tracing patterns over his chest. "Is that like what you ended up doing with Willow and Giles?"

"Yeah," Xander admitted. "You've met my parents, why wouldn't I want to have Giles instead of Tony Harris? I can't really imagine life without Willow, but I wouldn't want her to be here instead of you, if that makes sense. I don't love her like that."

"I'm glad to hear that," Anya whispered, and kissed him. "So, if we had children, they wouldn't look like your uncle Vic?"

"There's no reason in my family why they should. We're not that tall, and none of us have claws, though the whole mutant thing's supposed to be random." Xander shrugged, his eyes having adjusted enough to make out the shape of Anya. "What about you? And… uhh… kids?"

Anya giggled, and suddenly was sitting on his lap. "Maybe. If we stay together, doesn't that normally lead to children? We could practice…"

Xander made a noise. Words were quite beyond his reach as he realized that Anya didn't seem to be wearing anything at all, and she was right in his lap. One hand slid over her arm, across her shoulder, and down her bare back. Naked Anya. Naked Anya on his lap.

Thinking and talked were probably over-rated anyhow.

Tara sighed as she looked once more at the stack of papers that Willow had brought over that evening. She'd known that computers could find all sorts of things, but that still hadn't prepared her for all of this. Printed pages with her family's birth certificates, pictures from old issues of the local newspaper, notes on the margins in Willow's handwriting.

She was descended from Irene Adler. This same Irene Adler had been a stock-market advisor, and effectively a single parent of two daughters. She was almost positive that her great grandmother the same Irene that the blue woman and the vampire had been talking about? Why would a blue shape-shifter and a vampire be interested in her grandmother anyhow?

She pulled out one of the pages again, staring at the family portrait. Irene Adler and her two daughters, Wilhemina and Raven. Wilhemina had been her grandmother, but what about Raven? Why did the other girl seem familiar, as if she'd seen her before, or seen someone who looked like her before? Why had the shape-shifter been visiting her grandmother anyhow?

Frustrated, Tara pulled out a blank page and started trying to draw a picture of the blue shape shifter, absently wondering why she was called Mystique – that couldn't be her real name, could it? The basic lines of her body were easy enough, lean and oddly sensual and threatening at the same time. Plain gray lines blunted the contrast of those pale eyes and the blue skin, but Tara kept drawing. On a second page, she tried to draw Mystique's face. Her efforts to get the tiny scales ended up a blur over the cheekbones, and the slicked back hair ended up looking closer to dark than red.

Tara leaned back, massaging her hand, trying to let go of the feeling of impatient confusion. It felt like there was something important, something that she really needed to know. She had all the pieces, and only needed to put them together.

Yawning, Tara decided that it was time for bed. Hopefully, things would make more sense in the morning. Standing up, she frowned at her second picture. It was amazing how much her drawing of Mystique's head resembled an older version of Raven. Maybe she'd better check with Jean in the morning, make certain that she hadn't let herself get mixed up and draw the wrong face…

End part 48.

"So, what's the plan?" Buffy demanded, watching as Jean and Willow murmured toe ach other over pages of paper. "I know that you've been talking about plans, and what we're going to do, but… spill!"

"Calm down, Buffy," Willow chuckled. "We're still working out some of the details. The plan is for either tonight or tomorrow, and it's partly dependant on how fast you and Scott can get a large number of vamps and demons into one big, scary group."

"We normally don't like it when they group up," Buffy pointed out.

"Once a large assembly is discovered or created, you will call Riley and have his soldiers deal with the demons. Meanwhile, you will continue a normal patrol." Giles added, placing a large book back on the shelves. "The idea is to keep the soldiers occupied, not for you to fight the demons yourself."

"What about everyone else?" Buffy asked, looking at the room. Xander wasn't there, Anya had been at the front desk, and Scott was probably visiting with her mom, but still…

"Xander and Anya will have kennel-duty tonight," Willow offered. "Which also covers Oz."

"Scott will be your back-up, because your mom and I insisted," Jean continued.

"Right, because someone needs to make sure nobody lets Oz out of his cage," Buffy mumbled. "And there's always vampires to slay. What about you two, you look like you're plotting."

"Why do you think we want all the soldiers elsewhere?" Willow retorted. "Once they're out, we sneak in, copy the files, and sneak out."

"No way!" Buffy yelped. "It's too dangerous! If they catch you, you'll be… shot, vanished, something. You can't go by yourselves."

"I'm hardly helpless," Jean muttered. "Considering this town, I doubt that Willow is either."

"You're not going in there alone," Buffy insisted. "And I don't think Scott would be happy with that plan either. Someone has to be there to defend you if you get attacked."

"We can defend ourselves," Jean insisted.

"Fine, I know exactly who we can take with us," Willow offered, eyes narrowed. "Besides, it would be a good idea to have someone watching our back while we make the computers tell us everything."

"But we can't be telling everybody about this," Buffy protested. "Destinies and government soldiers and weird projects! It's too weird, they'd lock us up in a nut-house."

"I'll ask Vic, he already knows enough that the rest won't be a big shock, and I'm pretty sure that he wants them to fail just as much as we do." Willow smirked at her friend. "You can't possibly think that he wouldn't be able to cover our backs."

"We could both hide behind his and nobody'd see us," Jean murmured. "But I don't know if he'd work with us on this."

"I can find out," Willow offered. "But they shot him a lot, ruined his date, and really annoyed him. I don't know if he'd want to help you, but I'm sure he'd want to hurt them."

"Why him?" Buffy grumbled, knowing that Willow had already explained with very good reasons. "If you start letting him help, then he'll think we want him to stay, and he'll keep dating my mom!"

"Instead of helping Magneto again… Yes, have him help, and stay," Jean agreed. "Then he won't be causing problems elsewhere."

"But I don't want a scary weird guy as my step-dad," Buffy protested. "I don't want a step-dad at all."

"Scott will probably be as disturbed by the idea as you are," Jean snickered. "Seriously, I don't know if he'll end up as your step-dad or not. Your mom's not even sure of that yet, but Joyce is pretty sure that she's not getting back together with your father."

Willow pulled out a cell phone and started dialing, trying to keep her words soft enough not to disturb anybody else. Buffy could only catch a few words among many, and she decided not to worry about it. Maybe it was something for school anyhow. If it was connected to this, Willow did better at the planning parts.

"So, where's Charlie?" Buffy asked, deciding to drop the whole thing about how Vic and her mom were so wrong for each other.

"Talking with Scott about the school. Apparently, she's a lot calmer after patrolling with you two last night. What happened anyhow?" Jean asked.

"It was pretty much a normal patrol, though it's a lot easier with Scott just zapping the vamps. All he has to do is hit them and poof! Dusted," Buffy grinned. "Charlie said she can light fires, she just didn't mention the part where she can dust vamps as fast as Scott can. That part was sort of cool, though she looked a little wigged, and then Scott went on about some accidents at the school."

For a few moments, Buffy was quiet, thinking back to the patrol. Charlie had the same sort of scared look that she remembered from when she'd first become a Slayer, impressed and a bit scared of her strength, and with no idea what was happening. Something that Scott had said… maybe Jean could explain? "What's up with the guy with the stabby-nightmares anyhow?"

"Stabby…" Jean frowned, trying to sort out Buffy's meaning. "Oh, you must mean Logan. He… His skeleton's been laced with metal, and claws were implanted. The whole process must have been brutal, and he doesn't really remember his past. He has nightmares, sometimes, an we think that they're fragments of memory from the procedures."

"Yikes," Buffy whispered. "That sounds brutal."

Jean nodded.

Willow looked over, smiling cheerfully. "Vic says that he'll be happy to go in and watch our backs while we get the information, and to let him know which night."

"Really?" Buffy didn't quite believe her friend.

"Well… close enough," Willow shrugged. "It was closer to a few growls, some insults about soldiers today depending too much on fancy equipment, snarls, a few things about lab tests and scientists, more growls, and the idea that he'd like a chance to rip some of those people into little, bloody pieces, but I'm pretty sure that means he'll help."

Jean just shook her head, smothering a laugh, "Close enough."

That was when Tara walked into the back room, a bag stuffed with books and papers slung over her shoulder. "Jean, I was hoping to find you. I wanted you to double check a sketch that I made."

"Of course," Jean said, smiling gently.

Tara settled the bag on a chair, pulled out a folder, and frowned at the pages inside. Biting her lip, she passed Jean a single page of paper, with a woman's face drawn on it in pencil.

"Mystique…" Jean breathed. "What was bothering you?"

Tara moved her bag, and then sat in the chair. Pulling out the same folder, she spoke softly, her words shaky. "Willow has been trying to help figure out why Mystique would be interested in my grandmother. She found some papers, and information, and I was thinking over them."

Pulling out a copy of a photograph of a woman with two teenage girls, Tara whispered, "Does the darker haired girl look familiar?"

Jean looked from the page in her hand to the page Tara was holding, and then whispered, "oh my God… It's her. She… who's the other girl?"

"My grandmother. The other one is listed as Raven, and Irene Adler, my great-grandma, was supposed to have adopted her," Tara explained. "Raven vanished from the public eye just like Irene, and Willow hasn't found her again. I know what happened to Grandma, but…"

"Your great-grandmother adopted Mystique?" Jean whispered. "That's completely unexpected."

"I couldn't find her again. Whatever she wanted the vampire for, they're far enough that I can't find them now," Tara added. "But she'd said something about Irene, and running out of time."

"Do you think…" Buffy started, and then looked at the date. "No way, that's ancient. Irene'd have to be dead by now."

"Maybe we should just hope they stay gone?" Willow suggested. "We have a secret military installation to break into, steal data from, sneak back out of, and then Scott and Jean get to carry three mutants away to a special school. Plus there's whatever killed Xander's boss. It's not like we're going to die of boredom."

"I guess so," Buffy admitted. "It's just… I don't trust Spike."

End part 49.


	20. parts 50 and 51

Forrest Gates dropped a stack of papers onto a desk, trying to keep his expressions blank as he faced Dr. Walsh. "I finished updating the capture and medical reports, sir. Everything's been entered into the computer systems, and here are my analyses of the probable locations for the escaped HST's."

"Good," she looked at the stack of papers, and a small smile settled on her lips. "Have the scientists finished their analytical reports?"

"Dr. Denson's in there, Dr. Mueller sent a preliminary, and said something about possible applications of some long chemical string that I didn't catch," Forrest shook his head, glad that he wasn't assisting for a chemistry professor, "and Dr. Lykos told me to go away, he'd damn well tell me when he was done with the report."

"Yes, he is a bit difficult. Perhaps…" she trailed off, her mind clearly considering an assortment of options for dealing with the temperamental Dr. Karl Lykos. She reached out, pulling the stack of reports closer. "Tonight, I want a focus on recapturing the escaped Hostiles. Acquisition of new specimens would be beneficial as well."

"Of course," Forrest nodded, outwardly still even though he wanted to scream. "I'll brief the teams. If we're trying to capture large numbers, we should have people with vans on standby, to enable easier transport of large Hostiles."

"That's actually a good thought," Walsh nodded. "Carry on."

Forrest nodded, and left the room. He didn't know what Mr. Giles had planned, and he was probably safer not knowing, but he hoped that it was soon. He'd felt uneasy with what was going on for a while, and now that he knew… Well, now that he knew what he did, this place turned his stomach. There was probably a great deal more going on that he didn't know, and that left him even colder.

Elsewhere in Sunnydale, a man in a gray suit looked at a stack of photographs. After nearly half of the stack, he paused, picking up the picture to inspect it carefully. A slow smile formed, and he began to chuckle. "You can't run forever McGee. We've found you again."

The man turned over the picture, looking at the time and location carefully written on the back. Then, he turned to his computer and began to access maps, seeking to determine exactly where the girl had been, and where it was in relation to his current location. Even if she had lost the younger agents at the coffee shop, she was still here, still in this miserable little town.

They'd get the girl, and it would be a simple matter to keep her sedated and move her back to the Shop. There was a very long list of tests and experiments that the scientists had in mind. If she proved cooperative, she could become very useful to them. If not… Well, if she didn't want to cooperate, they would be able to sort out how she did what she could do, and how to let others do the same things. More obedient others. And then, there would be no further use for the young woman.

Looking back at the picture, he chuckled. Maybe they should try to capture the other two people that had been in the photograph as well, hostages could be such useful bargaining chips, or leverage. A man in glasses, either visually impaired or oh-so fashion conscious, would be a simple enough target. As for the other, she looked to be nothing more than a blond girl, probably the same age as McGee. Harmless.

This would be almost too easy.

Sometimes, there were some advantages to his position… No, there were always advantages. But sometimes, they were fun. He only had to take orders from one man, who didn't care about his methods as long as he delivered results. Indirectly, he worked for the government, but outside the normal chains of command. And out here in the field, he was in charge.

Looking at the rest of the photos, he paused. That looked similar to the car that had picked up the McGee girl at the coffee shop. It had been clever of her and her colleagues to trick his people like that, clever and lucky. But if the car was parked at a little shop, then there might be something of interest there. Searching through some more photos, he found another with the same bland brown car, this time parked in front of a house. Flipping it over for the address, he checked for the location of Revello Drive, as well as that shop, something called the Magic Box.

With one hand, he pulled a cell-phone, hitting a single button. "You have two locations. I believe our target may be hiding on one of them, with two assistants. I want them alive. The first is a house on Revello Drive…"

End part 50.

Buffy was tapping her fingers against the table, and fidgeting in her seat. Scott tried to ignore her fidgeting as he considered the map of Sunnydale. "You know that Giles was right. We do need to pay attention, and if there's not a large concentration, we should try to arrange one."

"This just feels so weird," Buffy grumbled. "I'm supposed to slay, that's why I'm the vampire slayer, not the vampire herder. And bunching them up… usually a big tactical no-no, the sort that leads to disaster. I can probably hold my own against any one bad guy out there, but not against him and twelve of his big, drooling ugly friends."

"That's why you aren't patrolling alone, and we won't be attacking groups of a dozen or more demons. That's why we have your boyfriend's phone number, remember?" Scott was trying not to smile at her antics. "We have a whole plan."

"But I'm not good with the plans, not really. They tend to go weird and wrong," Buffy protested.

Scott shook his head. "The problem with most plans is that they get too complicated, too bogged down with every detail. In some situations, that's good. In this one, it would be foolish. We don't have enough information to get very detailed. It's entirely possible that everything won't be ready until tomorrow, or maybe even later. But since the vampires won't be out and about until sunset, unless it's underground, and neither one of us really wants to go searching the sewers, we might as well try to get some ideas where to search first."

"Fine, be all logical," Buffy huffed, trying not to smile. "And you don't want to go down there into the sewers – I mean, you know what's down there right? Not just he vampires, and the rats, and the bugs, but… ugh."

"As I said, since we'd rather stay above ground…" Scott chuckled. "What about this area?"

"Oh, that's where Spike and Dru used to lair. They were in this abandoned factory, and… umm… ugly memories. And there's the old meat packing plant where some vamps tried to resurrect the Master, and that's where we think Mr. Trick was hiding with Kakistos…" For a moment, Buffy paused, clearly thinking over more Sunnydale memories. "Yeah, that's a good area to search for nasties."

"At some point, you're going to need to explain some of those stories," Scott insisted. "But not for a while, I think they might give me gray hair."

Buffy giggled. "There's a solution to that, and it's called Clairol."

"Fine, I'll have to remember that. Are we ready to start?" He folded the map up, tucking it into the pocket of the jacket that Buffy had insisted would 'totally hide those weapons' that she had also insisted he had to have.

"Yes. I'm ready, you're ready, let's get going. I'd rather be a moving target than a sitting duck." Buffy was on her feet and towing him along the street before she'd even finished talking.

It took almost a block for him to regain his hand. Scott just sighed, and decided to do his best to keep his eyes focused on their surroundings, and to not loose track of Buffy's pale hair, which he'd been assured was blond, and not pink. He still didn't like the idea that she went out hunting demons, and part of him thought that he was crazy for volunteering to go with her. Then again, didn't it take a similar sort of crazy to put on a uniform and go tangle with disgruntled mutants?

"Sunnydale shouldn't be big enough to have a whole neighborhood of abandoned factories. There's something entirely wrong about this," Scott grumbled, looking at the looming buildings, with their nests of chimneys, pipes, sections of half-fallen fences, tanks and silos, and in several cases, lengths of train-track.

"For that, we should place the blame squarely on the last mayor, the great snake. He'd spent the last century doing his version of urban development and city planning, in which human health and safety was a low priority, and demonic convenience was a high one. I think he enticed companies in, and then either let them get eaten or taken over by the scaries, and then threw red tape at the properties so that the next people would have to start from scratch." Buffy shrugged, "We blew him up, so it didn't help him too much in the end."

"Suddenly, powerful mutants trying to rewrite world policies are sounding a lot less complicated…" Scott muttered, thinking that at least Magneto's goal had been simple. A world run by mutants instead of humans, a world where mutants didn't need to be afraid. But Sunnydale seemed to defy any sort of logic, and the more he tried to understand, the less sense it made.

Buffy laughed at him.

He couldn't explain it in detail, but Scott was suddenly aware of movement that was wrong. He reached out, tapping Buffy's arm as he turned towards the wrong motion. "There's something…"

"I don't see anything, but I can feel demons around somewhere," Buffy whispered. "Let's try to sneak over and take a peek."

Scott nodded, and they started to go along the side of the building. There was a door about half way down, the handle glistening with some sort of slime, as well as the grass and weeds near the door having wilted and broken. There was a window at about twenty feet, the many small panes of glass murky, and quite a few more broken or missing. "Something's been using the door an awful lot."

"Demon slime," Buffy agreed. "Keep a lookout, I'm going to try to peek through that window."

Scott was still trying to figure out how to object and what explanation to give when Buffy just… well, she jumped, catching hold of the window ledge and peering through one of the broken panes. "She said she was stronger, not that she could jump like she had springs in her feet."

Buffy dropped back down, landing lightly. "I think they're having some sort of big pow-wow in there. I saw at least twenty, they've got a table with what's probably supposed to be food, and there's a punch-bowl. I recognized five different types that I've fought before and remember the names, sort of, and another three types looked familiar. Plus there's some vamps in there…"

"Call Riley. This is exactly what we were looking for." Scott tugged at her arm, pulling her father from the den of evil. "Once you've called him, call Jean and tell her that the plan is in motion."

"Wow, I don't see you for a few years and you go all super-hero and general authority guy on me," Buffy grumbled, pulling her phone from her pocket.

It didn't take long for her to call Riley. "Hey there, soldier. You need to check out the old Fenton factory. It's either the new den of evil, or there's one wild costume party going on, and I don't think the horns come off in the morning."

"He says it should take them about twenty minutes, and he's calling for more teams," Buffy explained, finally rejoining Scott after the conversation. "I don't really want us to be too close when they arrive."

Scott nodded, and they headed for the nearest cemetery. "Right. Call Jean."

Buffy started to dial again as they left the officially abandoned industrial area.

End part 51.


	21. parts 52 and 53

Jean walked into the living room, smiling at Willow. "Can you call your pal Xander and tell his uncle that it's time? Buffy and Scott just found our distraction."

Willow nodded, and picked up her cell phone. "I can have everybody updated. Were Buffy and Scott staying out on patrol, or were they heading back here?"

"Buffy said they'd be back after hitting a couple cemeteries, and that there shouldn't be any cause for worries." Jean shrugged, and then sighed, "How are we supposed to not worry when they're hunting vampires? I'm still getting used to the idea that vampires aren't just old legends and movie monsters."

Willow nodded, her fingers pushing in a number. "I know, it's pretty scary to realize just how many old stories have some truth to them, and if you start to think about how many have more badness than it looks… Hansel and Gretel got totally twisted around, the witch was the victim and the kids were really a demon in disguise."

"Now I'm disturbed," Jean muttered. She moved back to the kitchen, deciding that now was definitely the time to take her next dose of painkillers. "I don't think I want to know the details of that just now."

Joyce was there already, pouring two cups of cocoa, complete with the little marshmallows. She passed one towards Jean, with a small, tired smile. "It's finally time that you can take those pills, though I worry. Have you seen a doctor about those headaches of yours, Jean?"

Jean chuckled, accepting the cocoa and gesturing at the brown bottle, floating them into her grasp. "Actually, I am a doctor, though my specialty is genetics. I've talked with a physician though, and… well, our best guess is that I'm having a residual reaction to a particularly stressful situation. With luck, everything will settle down and I won't need them anymore."

Joyce nodded, blowing air over her own cup. "Will Vic be coming here to meet you, or will you be meeting up somewhere else for whatever it is that you're planning?"

"We're going to pick him up, apparently Xander's place is on the way to the college, and Willow's pretty certain that she's worked out one of the soldier's access points." Jean placed two pills in her mouth, washing them down with the cocoa. It was hot, and the searing chocolate both took away the flavor of the pills and left her mouth feeling raw. "Oh, that's very hot."

"That is why it's called hot cocoa," Joyce murmured, amusement bubbling though her mind.

"Funny," Jean smiled. "Yes, I'll pass on your regards to Vic, even though I don't quite see why him."

Jean made her way back to the living room, just in time to see Willow close her cell phone. "Are we ready?"

"Sure. You can take the cocoa with us, I'll drive." Willow smiled. "Though I guess you could just look in my head to see where Xander's place and the college are, which might be pretty easy, but I'm pretty sure that I can get us into the almost secret base. Either a simple bypassing of the security measures or…"

"Okay, just drive," Jean interrupted. "Are you sure that you don't have just a tiny mutation to let you talk so much in one breath?"

Willow giggled, grabbing the keys. "Years and years of practice."

It didn't feel like very long at all before they arrived at the Harris house. Sabertooth emerged, like a bear from a cave, and moved towards the car, teeth bared in what might be called a smile. At the same time, Xander and Anya made their way to a rather battered convertible, waving cheerfully as they pulled out of the driveway.

Jean blinked, and then gestured at Willow's backpack. "So, what are you taking with you to college tonight?"

Sabertooth was grinning, "We get to go fight the soldiers, and Xander just gets to go wait in a shop. Poor kid… though he is taking Her with him."

"You don't have the words for her either?" Jean blinked, twisting to face Sabertooth. "She's… I've never met anyone like her before, and I hope to never meet anyone like her again."

"I have words for her," Willow muttered. "Anya's a former Viking who spent a thousand years as a demon before suffering the horrible fate of becoming a teenager again."

Jean could feel her jaw drop as she tried to make sense out of Willow's impossible words. "She… demon? And Xander's dating her… How could you keep something like that from him?"

"I thought she smelled off," Sabertooth muttered.

"What makes you think Xander doesn't know?" Willow asked, a smirk on her face. "He knows all about how she used to be a demon, complete with some of her stories of the things that she used to do as Anyanka, Patron Saint of Scorned Women. Every time in the last thousand years that a woman's been dumped and howled out in anger that she wished someone would inflict some variation of horrible pain on the guy, Anya's the one who heard her. Of course, Sunnydale really isn't that much safer for demons than it is for humans, so when she came here, some stuff happened and she somehow got turned human. Xander took her to the Prom, and well… I guess they hit it off pretty good."

"Is that why that bastard Frank was found carved to ribbons, and a pair of slippers for his ex-wife? Nobody could ever figure out how it happened, and she wasn't even there at the time…" Vic rumbled, eyes unfocused.

"A pair of slippers? How do slippers relate to horrible vengeance?" Jean asked, before murmuring, "Maybe I don't want to know."

"Slippers made from the skin on his back, right?" Willow replied, adding, "Anya's mentioned that one a few times. She said there was some artistry required for it."

Jean shuddered, but Vic chuckled, commenting, "Xander's a brave man."

As she parked the car beside an all-night diner, Willow nodded, "That he is. We'll leave the car here, and it should be fine while we're gone. One of the entry points for their base is just over there."

"When do we go in?" Vic asked, leaning forwards, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

"Jean, you're a telepath, right? Can you look or listen or however you describe it to let us know when the soldiers in the base leave? They've been given the report of a whole bunch of demons, so they should all go after them. While they're out, we go in. But we don't want them to see us waiting for them to go away, so…" Willow shrugged, obviously hoping that Jean would follow her meaning.

Jean nodded, closing her eyes as she felt for the minds of the soldiers. They were below the ground, matching the information that she'd found with Tara about their base being underneath the campus, and she could feel the tense soldiers, the scientists, and a few captives. For some reason, one of the scientists felt vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him. Then, many of the soldiers began to move, leaving the base by several exits, feeling nervous and angry. "Something about a nest of HST's… that means the demons, I assume?"

"Yeah," Willow lifted her backpack, stepping out of the car. "Time for us to go in."

As Willow did something to a keypad mostly concealed on the side of what looked like a large rock, Jean just hoped that everything would go smoothly. There were still some soldiers inside, still the scientists, and still the captive minds, all of which felt strange and angry. Trying this with most of the soldiers elsewhere was safer, but it was still a dangerous plan.

"And the back door is open." Willow's voice was pleased as part of the stone slid sideways, revealing a metal staircase going down into darkness.

Jean swallowed hard as they entered the passage. She just hoped that they'd get out again safely.

End part 52.

Charlie stared at what had been a quiet guy with brown and gold striped hair. Shortly before sunset, Oz had gone into what looked like a cage in the back room, and started removing clothing. Willow had put up a little cord that supported a blanket, so that they didn't actually see her boyfriend naked. Charlie and Tara had both looked at each other, feeling rather baffled.

Until Oz had stiffened, with hair sprouting over his body. His nails had turned into long talons, the fingers changing, looking shorter and stubbier. They could hear his bones creaking as his body altered itself, muscles building onto his body from nowhere, his ears becoming long and pointed, his mouth changing into a long muzzle filled with sharp teeth. Oz didn't look cute and harmless anymore.

"He's a werewolf," Xander shrugged. "All we have to do is make sure he's locked tight for his monthlies, and nobody gets killed."

"Killed? B-but Oz is a nice guy," Tara stammered, stepping further from the cage.

"Oz is a nice guy. That's not Oz, that's the Wolf. The Wolf would rip us into little bloody pieces and maybe eat us afterwards." Anya's words were blunt, and she was leafing through a catalog. "We're going to need to order more snake liver and raven feathers."

"He does this every month?" Charlie whispered, and then looked at the floor. "It looked painful."

"Every full moon, for three days. Giles could explain with bigger words, but that's the short version. His wolfy self isn't very friendly, and we need to keep him from answering the call of the wind," Xander replied, glancing at a gleaming gun. "Oz tells us that he doesn't remember if it hurts, but that he feels stiff in the mornings."

Tara swayed, her eyes glazing over.

"Hey, you okay over there? I know there's been a lot going on…" Xander waved his hand in front of Tara's face, frowning when she didn't even blink. "Now she's zoning out on us."

"Some people look like that when they're doing magic," Anya commented, flipping the page of her catalog. "Can you believe the price they're asking for newt eyes? Outrageous! It would be simpler to catch the newts and pluck out the eyes myself!"

"Eeew," Charlie shuddered. "What would you do with them anyhow? Reenact MacBeth? "

"They're really popular with the people who get their ideas of magic from plays and movies, and those people should only spend as much of their money as I can get them to part with. Besides, at least we aren't putting dangerous hallucinogens in the incense," Anya snapped.

"Does that mean you're… Nevermind," Xander muttered.

"Call Mrs. Summers now!" Tara demanded, her face pale as she gasped for breath. She wasn't stammering at all. "It's important, and there isn't a lot of time left!"

Xander handed Tara the cordless phone, his expression puzzled. "Number one for the speed dial. What do you mean, there isn't much time left? Time for what?"

Tara ignored him, intent on the phone. "Mrs Summers? Listen, please. You have to get out of the house, Jean too. Use the back door; don't change the lights. There are people coming after the house, they'll use the front door. You can't let them get you, they're bad people."

Tara was shivering, one arm wrapped around her stomach, shoulders hunched as she whispered to the phone. "They'll be driving dark vans, and they have guns. They've killed people, and they think you can tell them what they want. They'll hurt you a lot before you die… Please don't be there."

Charlie felt like the floor had dropped out from under her, and sparks danced in her vision. She knew who those people were, who they answered to. The same people who had killed her parents, who had been hunting her for years. They were after her. Why would they go after Mrs. Summers' house when she'd only been… She's only been here.

They knew that she was here. It was only a matter of time before they came after her, before they would be here as well. With their guns and their dead eyes and trying to drag her back with them for tests, to turn her into a weapon. "Oh no…"

She could smell something burning. This was bad, and would only get worse, no matter how it turned out.

End part 53.


	22. parts 54 to 56

In the converted basement that had become the Sunnydale police department's criminal morgue, Dustin Stewart flipped the concealing cloth back over the last heap of pieces. Four days ago, those heaps of severed flesh and bone had been John Thomas McCrea, retired from the Army at the rank of Captain, moved to the coast to enjoy the rest of his life selling ice cream. Three days ago some twisted and sadistic person had cut Mr. McCrea into little pieces. The pattern of the blood spray had indicated that the heart had still been pumping when he had been dismembered. There had been no traces of any sedatives or foreign chemicals in the blood, which had been splashed all over inside the truck garage.

The only comparison that Dustin could make was the methodical dissection of a biology specimen. He'd been opened up, with the organs separated out from the abdominal cavity. The bones had been cracked, either a sign of appalling cruelty or enabling the inspection of the insides. Regardless, death had been slow and painful for the late Mr. McCrea. They'd had to identify him through a combination of blood-typing and dental records, checking by matching prints for the three fingers that they'd found.

There had been footprints through the garage, places where the blood had been scuffed, more places where bloody feet had walked leaving bloody footprints. Forensics had identified five sets that had been walking around in and through the wet blood, a pair of sneakers, a pair of beach sandals, and three different sizes of combat boots. He suspected that some of the shoes belonged to the ones who had held McCrea down while one of them had been dissecting him, and he wouldn't be willing to take a bet that any of them were human.

In this town, humans weren't the only things out there in shoes. There were vampires, complete with fangs and lacking pulses or body heat. After the third time a murder victim had woke up and tried to eat him, he'd started removing their hearts. Several times, he'd had bodies brought in that… He still didn't know what they were, only that they'd been found. Most of them had been found in graveyards or the old factory section, having apparently died in some fight against a foe with a knife or a sword, sometimes a spear. When he thought about it, Dustin found the not-human bodies more interesting to autopsy. He didn't know what they were – they couldn't be mutants with blood work so radically different from that of a human. Aliens, maybe? All he knew was that they weren't humans, and there had been over a dozen different kinds of not-human bodies brought in by the police.

Occasionally, he wondered what the not-humans did before they were killed, other than apparently engage in combat armed with medieval weaponry. Most of the time, he didn't care as long as they left him alone. Though he hadn't really had any of those brought in for the past several months. Maybe they weren't dying anymore, or maybe they'd finally got their own coroner. He wasn't about to ask someone, wasn't at all certain that he wanted to admit to knowing that there were not-humans out there in Sunnydale. It wasn't worth being branded as insane or dangerous to talk about the Others, those not-human things that were occasionally brought in to his office.

Right now, he was trying to figure out how to report McCrea's dissection. He had to include enough of his findings to let the police know that a reasonably fit man had been carved to pieces while he was alive, without sharing his suspicion that it was done by something that wasn't human and wanted to know how humans were put together inside.

He hoped that whatever had been responsible didn't decide to open up someone else. Whoever or whatever had been behind this had been very precise in their actions. This hadn't been at random, but something carefully planned. The sort of mind that could plan one horrible thing would often plan another.

Calling the main desk, he listened as Katie greeted him before saying, "This is Dustin. I finished up with the remains from the ice cream garage. I'm working on the report now; it can be waiting for the captain in the morning. But I've got a bad feeling about tonight – things are going to get nasty out there."

:Blame the full moon, Dusty boy: Katie chuckled. :We haven't had anything out of the ordinary yet, but the night's still young.:

"That's what I'm afraid of," Dustin mumbled. Glancing at his watch, he was dismayed to see that it was barely eleven. There was still time for all sorts of mangled bodies to be brought in, and he wasn't sure if the worst ones would be the work of Others or of humans.

On Revello Drive, Joyce Summers crept across her back yard, uncertain just what had prompted her daughter's friend to call her, terrified that 'they' were going to be attacking her house or even who 'they' were. Any sort of attacking was bad, and considering that her daughter was the Slayer, that monsters were real… Well, she didn't want to be in her house when it was attacked.

She just hoped that she didn't run into any vampires before she could get to somewhere safe. Maybe Sheila's house… She had ended up with a spare key so that she could drop in and visit after that MOO thing, though the details were very hazy. What had those letters stood for again? Mothers Opposed to… something. Houses were good after dark; the vampires couldn't go in without an invitation.

Emerging from the Sorentino yard to the sidewalk, she sighed, thinking that they really needed to cut their grass. Straightening and trying to look calm, Joyce began to walk down the sidewalk. A dark van drove past, with a layer of dust obscuring the color and windows. When she walked past a second one just as blandly forgettable, Joyce began to get a very cold feeling in her stomach.

Don't look, just keep walking. Her hands were at her sides, sweat clinging to her fingers and making her shirt stick to the back of her shoulders, and Joyce forced herself not to run. Running would only attract attention.

Reaching the corner, Joyce checked for traffic, watching as a third dark van drove through the intersection and turned onto Revello. Walking away, she wondered just what sort of job Hank had now that he didn't work at the advertising agency any longer, and hoped that it was legal.

She had a feeling that she now knew who 'they' were, at least in general. Joyce just wished that she had some clue why government agents were on her street, and why someone thought that they'd be at her house. Then again, maybe it would be safer not to know…

End part 54.

Willow listened carefully as they descended the metal stairs to the military compound. Giles had said that they called themselves 'the Initiative', and that the soldiers – among them Buffy's boyfriend Riley – were told that they were defending America against demons. Unfortunately it seemed that the truth was a bit less simple and a lot uglier.

All they had to do was get the proof.

Vic's hand grabbed her shoulder, jerking her to a halt. There were words in his low growl, "I hear them in the hall."

Jean was rubbing at her temples, eyes closed. :I'll try to prevent them from noticing us. Yes, I watched Star Wars as a child, and if it works for a Jedi Knight, it should work for a telepath. Try not to actually bump into anybody or give any detailed answers. They'll think they see people who should be here.:

After several very long moments, Vic released Willow's shoulder. "Hall's clear."

Willow nodded, and whispered, "According to the maps that Jean and Tara did, we need the main computer room, which should be down this hall, a right at the second corridor, and then the fourth door on the left. Or maybe we should… um, Vic, can you listen for the computers when we're getting closer?"

"Yeah. Of course, the room might be guarded," There was anticipation in his voice.

"We aren't here to attack them," Jean hissed as they once again descended towards the bottom of the staircase.

"Speak for yourself," he retorted.

Willow started sending up prayers that they'd get through this without any serious injuries, death, or being captured – again, in Vic's case. They walked down the hall, and passed the first intersection, which appeared to be a corridor of storerooms, though she wouldn't swear to that. As they came into the second intersection, Jean frowned, murmuring, 'act like we belong…'

A trio of soldiers was coming down the hallway. They were all armed, and one of them had some greenish bruises that hadn't quite vanished along the side of his face. Willow offered a small nod and kept walking, and Jean pretended to ignore them while Vic scowled.

They had actually passed the first door when one of the soldiers declared, "That's not Shirley, and he's not Dan!"

Jean gasped and flattened herself against the closest door. Willow flattened against the wall, grabbing a small crystal from her pocket and preparing for either a healing spell or a sleep spell.

She hadn't counted on Vic. By the time that she'd gotten the crystal free of her pocket, he was standing over the soldiers, one on the ground with a trace of blood emerging from his nose, one down with blood coming from several long slashes down his stomach, and the third sailing through the air to the wall. He impacted with a 'thud' and slid down, no longer moving.

"Wow, I guess that takes care of them. But we still need to find the records," Willow murmured, certain that he could hear her just fine.

"They're not dead, thankfully," Jean murmured, glaring at Vic. "But he enjoyed that."

Willow didn't need to be a telepath to feel the tension between them. "Okay, they're alive, he enjoyed dropping them in a few very fast heartbeats, and we aren't done here. You don't have to like him, but we need to either do this or get out of here."

"I know that," Jean took a breath and released it slowly. "I can handle this. It can't be worse than Scott and Logan fighting while Marie makes googly eyes at them."

Willow decided not to ask about that, and instead turned her attention back to the soldiers. Pointing at each one, she murmured a quick sleep spell, just enough to keep them under for a while since they were already unconscious. The longer it took for anyone else to learn that they were there, the safer they'd be.

"Fourth door… okay, let's find those computers."

Thankfully, the computers were easy enough to find. It wasn't the room that held the majority of the data entry stations, but the information server was there. Willow grinned, sinking to the floor beside it, and pulled her laptop out of the backpack. "Now I just need the time to get a connection and copy everything… It's probably encrypted, and that could take a while to work through. I'm planning to do that later, somewhere safer."

Jean nodded, eyes fluttering as she murmured, "Scott and Buffy are fine, they've left the first area and are moving on. I'm supposed to say that she's headed towards the DuLac family? They left when they saw the boys in green headed to break up the party."

"Good to know that Buffy's feeling herself," Willow muttered, linking her computer to the system. "How many people are still here, and what are they doing?"

"Give me a few moments to scan," Jean commented. One hand reached out, as if brushing over something that only she could sense.

Willow started a program that should give her access to the stored data, and popped a CD into the drive so that she would be ready to start downloading. Hopefully Jean and Vic wouldn't get into a fight. If only there had been a less volatile combination of people to do this… like Xander and Angel, for instance. At least she knew they could wait until the danger was over for the insults and the fighting. At least, they probably would wait.

"A pair of scientists in a lab, along with two technicians. One scientist in an office… she's a cold one. Someone else… he has a very tight mind, I can't tell what he's doing, but he's on the other side of the complex. Captives… none of them are human. I've never felt such strange minds before…" Jean shivered, rubbing at her temples. "There's some soldiers in a recovery area, and a few filling out forms in an office, and a group… a group headed for the back door to go on a routine sweep."

"Dibs," Vic growled, gone from the doorway before Willow could even figure out if she wanted to protest.

So much for quiet in, get the data, and out before they even knew.

End part 55.

Charlie winced as Anya smothered sand over palm-sized scorch mark on the table. "I'm sorry…"

"Try not to burn the shop down, some of this can't be replaced easily," Anya grumbled. "Oh, and it would be dangerous for us as well. Flames and smoke have been proven to harm or kill humans."

The werewolf that had been Oz started to growl, facing the back of the room, where there was a door to the alley. Tara made a small noise, and stepped backwards, colliding with a wall. She was staring at Oz, eyes wide, "How can Willow's boyfriend turn into… that? And they're still together?"

"Normal doesn't happen around us," Xander shrugged, before placing a bucket near the table. "Charlie, Ahn, can we put the sand away now? Maybe before Giles finds out tomorrow… Especially before it gets stuck to his teacup."

There was a small noise outside. Charlie tensed, uncertain how to explain beyond the simple fact that the noise didn't sound right. It didn't fit. Her hands curled into fists, and she felt anger and fire roil inside of her as her heart beat faster. This could be nothing good.

Tara darted away from the door, sliding into the smaller office and ducking under the solid desk with a whimper. Part of Charlie desperately wanted to join her, to hide and hope that the bad guys wouldn't find her. She knew better, knew that it was a foolish and impossible idea.

Anya was holding a fistful of sand and a raven feather, eyes narrowed at the door. "This is our store. Our lives. Nobody gets to push us around… except for taxes, and that's different. And D'Hoffryn fired me."

Charlie focused on the door, wondering just how bad things would be this time. They hadn't tried an assault for over a year, and she'd barely managed to escape then… Of course, she'd also been alone at the time. She didn't know how this would turn out, only that this time would be different, and she wasn't about to let them drag her off without a fight. Not again.

The door was flung open, and a man in dark clothing fired three rounds from a small pistol, rolling to the ground as he entered the room. Two more were behind him, though their weapons looked heavier and somehow more menacing. Glass shattered in the front of the store. That could only mean that they had decided to split their forces and come through both doors, cutting off an easy escape.

The Oz-Wolf snarled, baring teeth longer than Charlie's thumb.

Anya spoke some words that were not in English, and threw the handful of sand at one of the gunmen. He started to scream and seemed to shrink, his skin darkening and sprouting fur even as a tail emerged from the base of his spine. In heartbeats, a rat was twitching on the floor.

Unfortunately, the rat-transformation caused the second gunman to panic, and he fired several shots towards Anya. One hit her in the shoulder, dropping her to the ground with a stream of curses and blood. He then took a step towards Charlie, grinning. "You need to be alive, McGee, but your friends… Nobody said anything about your friends."

Xander tackled him from behind, dropping him to the ground and then slamming the man's head into the floor again. "Nobody hurts Anya!"

The first agent moved, preparing to fire his gun.

Charlie pushed the fire, melting the weapon in his hand into uselessness. The fact that there was a good chance that it would severely burn his hand was only a bonus at the moment. The tranquilizer darts inside exploded, releasing puffs of steam into the air.

Another gunman shot at Xander, a bullet kicking up splinters just beside him. A second hit his leg, making Xander grunt in pain. A third missed Xander entirely. Unfortunately, it shattered the lock on Oz's cage.

Oz-Wolf pounced on the now-burned man, biting and ripping at him while growling. Releasing the limp body, he looked up, feral eyes meeting Charlie's before he lunged forward. He stepped over Xander, charging into the front of the shop.

"A rampaging werewolf. That's going to leave a mess…" Anya murmured, her hand clutching at her shoulder. Blood stained her shirt, but she didn't seem to be bleeding any longer.

Charlie blinked, realizing that tiny bits of flame were dancing over her body. Maybe that had influenced the werewolf to leave her alone… Though she didn't know why he hadn't attacked Xander or Anya, who were both wounded and bloody. From the sounds of it, he was currently attacking several gunmen in the front portion of the shop. Screams, gunfire, several sounds of glass shattering, and the spill of hundreds of some small object rolling to the floor…

Then came an unexpected noise. Police sirens.

The growling continued, though the sounds of gunfire died away as the sirens got closer. They could see flickers of blue and red light shining on the wall.

"This is the police. Put down any weapons and remain where you are."

They could hear the sound of Oz-Wolf growling, followed by the scrabble of claws over the floor. Several gunshots rang out, accompanied by a shout of "What the hell kind of dog is that!"

Oz-Wolf had made an escape. Anya and Xander had both been hit, and Tara was hiding in the office… Tara, who had a cell phone was hiding in the office. Charlie grinned at the thought of Tara calling the police while everything had been going on, and focused on pulling the fire back down. She extinguished the dancing sparks, and put out the flaring heat from the molten metal of the tranquilizer pistol.

She just hoped that the Sunnydale police weren't working with the agents.

End part 56.


	23. parts 57 to 59

Riley fired his stun-gun again, hoping that the electricity would be enough to drop the large snarling Hostile in front of him. He didn't know what it was, but it was built like a linebacker, covered with a tough green skin, and had a pair of curling horns on the sides of its head and big tusks in its mouth. Whatever it was, it had already dropped on of the guys in Beta unit.

Muscles spasmed, and the creature bellowed. A huge fist was slammed into the wall behind where Riley had been standing, and spittle frothed at its mouth.

As it toppled to the floor, Riley glanced at the wall. There was a crater the exact size of its fist and spider-webbed fractures radiating out. He was certainly glad that he'd been able to dodge in time; that would have done very painful things to his body.

Around him, there were more dropped Hostiles. About a dozen were vampires, there was the demonic linebacker that he'd dropped, a pair of gray-skinned tall bony looking creatures with long talon-fingers, and some sort of rat-man. Some had probably escaped in the confusion of the fight, and he spared a moment to wonder if there had been additional soldiers surrounding the building in case of escape efforts.

He heard his radio crackle, heard the reports of Agent Pine and Agent Larkspur outside, and a demand that Agent Thistle report on their current capture results.

As Agent Thistle retorted that now was not the time for filling out paperwork, Riley grinned. Thistle had been a good deal more colorful and profane about the paperwork, something about sheep-spawned morons, paperwork that multiplied like rabbits, and being up to his bloody eyeballs in Hostiles. That sort of creativity was why Thistle was posing as the TA for a Literature professor…

It sounded as if every team in the Initiative must be out tonight, once he included the drivers for the vans. If everybody was out here except the scientists, then Buffy was probably having her friends slip inside right now. Of course, he didn't know that for certain, and he didn't intend to ask. Ever. He just hoped that they managed whatever they were doing without getting into trouble.

This being Sunnydale, they probably weren't.

As it happened, Riley was right and wrong. The group sent to infiltrate the Initiative and tap their files had encountered a few unexpected changed to their plan, but nothing insurmountable. Not for them, at least.

Jean and Willow weren't certain where Vic had gone, only that he'd been growling and calling dibs on a group of soldiers headed their way on a routine sweep. Willow was tapping at her laptop, her whole mind focused on her task of accessing the data and copying out the Initiative database.

Jean had given up trying to follow Willow. Every so often, the younger redhead would mutter a word or phrase, but they didn't mean much to Jean. Her thoughts were even more confusing, with streams of programming, a sort of cracking feeling directed at her laptop, and a strange buzzing sensation. Instead, she was focused on making certain that if anybody else came down the hallway, they wouldn't notice anything unusual, wouldn't notice the light in the room, their silhouettes behind the frosted glass, wouldn't notice the fallen soldiers down the hall.

Willow popped out the CD, placing another into her laptop as she scrawled something on the front of the newly burned CD. Then, she placed it in a pocket of a large binder, and grinned at Jean, "The downloading is underway."

"How long will it take?" Jean asked.

"That's the not-so-good news. At this rate, at least an hour. And if anybody catches us, there's no way we can explain why we're in a secret base that we aren't supposed to know about and making copies of their encrypted records."

"Can't you make it happen any faster?" Jean frowned, glancing at the door. "The longer we're here, the higher the chances that we'll be discovered."

"I AM making things go faster. We told you that we did some magic together, and as this is the modern era, magic can be integrated with technology. Just look at Moloch… and that's another story. Electronics can be touchy about magic, so it's sort of a careful learning process, but I'm using a bit to make my laptop download faster and there was some to help my decryption program work," Willow reached for another CD, ready to change disks again. "But I can only speed things up so much. There's a lot of stuff to copy. Ordinarily, this would take closer to a day than an hour."

"Oh," Jean blinked, startled by the idea that magic could be just as real as mutant abilities. The idea of trying to wait a whole day to download their database was appalling, thought it probably was a reasonable estimate for the amount of information and records they probably had. Granted, there would likely be large portions that were of no use to them, but those would be intermixed with what they were after.

"The really tough part will be getting Vic back out of here before he hunts down and kills everybody," Willow commented, most of her attention still focused on her laptop. "Maybe you'll need to tell him that there are longer, more painful things for scientists than being ripped apart by claws? Like public embarrassment and being thrown out of academia."

Shuddering at the idea of bodies ripped apart, Jean nodded. Willow was probably right about Sabertooth. She just didn't know how the young woman could stomach the idea so calmly.

End part 57.

Joyce Summers sighed as she sat in the den of the Rosenberg house. Looking around, she wouldn't have known that Sheila had a daughter Buffy's age. There were no pictures, no medals or trophies from a child's proud accomplishments, no teen magazines scattered over the table or beside the chair. She hadn't noticed any mess of shoes and jackets overflowing from the closet in the front hall. How odd – Buffy was supposed to be living in the dormitory and her things were still scattered everywhere at home.

"Joyce? What are you doing here?" Ira asked, walking into the room. "I'm certain that we weren't expecting you."

"This was actually a last minute change of plans. For some reason, my street has been invaded by dark vans full of people," Joyce admitted. She didn't quite feel willing to admit that they seemed to be after her house, not just on her street. "It made me feel a bit nervous."

"If you've heard anything like some of the rumors that I've been hearing," Ira mused, settling into his chair. "Things about people kidnapped on suspicion of unique abilities, and never seen again. Wild tales of brainwashed operatives and assassins who can vanish from behind locked doors, if they're even seen to begin with. And the things I've heard about mutants…"

"Mutants doing these things, or things done to mutants?" Joyce asked, her voice shaking.

"Depending on the rumor, both. Though it might be more accurate to say either, depending on which rumor you hear. Of course, the more disturbing ones are the brainwashed mutant tools, the vanishing people, and this new one that one of my college buddies passed on that the government had a program out there where they were trying to breed mutants." Ira shook his head, scowling. "Some of those rumors go beyond disturbing and into the realm of blasphemous. Men were not meant to play God and try to create special abilities."

"If there are mutants, can't they just settle down and lead normal lives like the rest of us?" Sheila asked.

"I don't know if the rest of the world would let them," Joyce mused. "If only there were something that we could do about it…"

"I think this is much more serious than the occult. The occult is normally a phase, little more than an act of rebellion from teens crying out for direction and discipline. This is an issue of tolerance and persecution, and we can't simply stand by and let things escalate! Why, if people had only stood up and objected, the Holocaust might have never happened. I refuse to permit what could become another one, targeting mutants instead of Jews," Sheila hissed.

"Then we'll need to organize," Ira said, folding his hands over his stomach. "The first thing is to find more people who agree, it will take more than three of us to make a difference. I suggest professional colleagues, in both the psychological and artistic fields. I can't imagine artists would enjoy the idea of restrictions on what people can be. We'll also need someone in the communications field, to spread the messages quickly."

"Is there anything that we can do about the people on my street?" Joyce asked.

"A call to the police is probably the best that we can manage. If they have the proper clearances, then there's nothing else, but if they don't…" Sheila shrugged, and started to dial.

Across town, several police officers were down as a result of the strange creature that had come bounding out of the shop. It had moved unlike any sort of dog they knew, but not quite like an ape or monkey, and it had been fast. Jake was down, slashed in several places by the long claws, and Rudy had picked up a nasty bite on his hand after he'd tried to pull his gun.

Paul had put in a call to the animal control department, reporting it as an unidentified large creature, possibly a dog or an ape, last seen heading south on Main Street. He'd also called for a couple ambulances as a result not only of the wounds from the animal, but from the repeated gunshots that they'd heard inside.

"I hope that damn thing wasn't rabid," grumbled Rudy, wrapping a spare shirt around his bleeding hand. "Of course, if they can't catch it, I'm going to need those shots anyhow…"

"At least you won't need all the stitches that Jake will," Paul retorted. "Now, who in the hell are these armed men, and what are they doing attacking a magic shop?"

"Damn if I know, arrest anyone who doesn't need the ambulance, and take them to the station. Maybe we'll find out something useful that way. As for anyone who does need the ambulance… Let's say that they'd best be able to explain what they were doing in there tonight." Rudy grinned, moving towards the building.

Entry would be easy; the door had been kicked inwards. That had made it far too easy for the furry whatever to come charging out at them. For that matter, what had that thing been doing in the magic shop anyhow?

End part 58.

Forrest helped heave the last Hostile into the back of the van. He wasn't really certain what the creature was, beyond large, smelly, and covered with scales, but its breath smelled like old gym shoes. "This was not what I joined the army for."

"Oh, you didn't dream of chasing monsters and shooting them in the foot? Or seeing your teammates getting clubbed by trolls, or having to stake your date who got turned into a vampire? Funny, I couldn't wait for that sort of stuff," muttered Rhodes.

"The part I don't get is why in the hell are we trying to take these things alive? Why not just kill them and be done with it?" demanded Marcus, also known as Agent Pine.

"So the scientists can do their research," Rhodes countered. "Not that I'm sure what they're researching, or why they want to know it."

"They're opening them up and poking around until they can figure out what makes them tick, and just what happens if they push that squiggly green thing," Forrest snapped. "Frankly, the methods our scientists are using lack a bit."

"What happens when they're done poking?" Marcus asked, frowning at the stacked hostiles. "I know we aren't deliberately letting them out, and that mass-escape was mostly recent captures."

"Eventually, they die during testing," Forrest spoke, his voice far more level than he thought it had any right to be. "Sooner or later, everything we bring in gets tested to death. Some of them got these little chips put in to control their behavior, and then that was used to make them do things until they died."

"Fuck…" Tyler whispered. "I heard some rumors about chips like that going into mutants. Now you say they're putting them in these monsters too?"

Forrest nodded. "I've seen the paperwork. We've got records. It makes me wonder a little about all those check-ups we get."

"You're making my skin crawl… Tell me all this is a joke, right? You're just trying to mess with my head?" the driver called back.

"Sorry man, this isn't a joke. Nobody's laughing," Forrest growled.

"You'd think that the fact that he's driving a van full of monsters that most of the country don't believe even exist would make him take this a little more seriously," Marcus muttered. "Why the hell would mind controlling micro-chips be… Oh, hell, I can't even say that with a straight face. He's right; this is freaky. It's so damn strange I expect to hear the alarm going off any minute and telling me to get out of bed. But there are monsters, and we are going after them. They do vanish from the cells, so I guess they are getting killed. And if you've talked for just a few minutes with some of those scientists… You'd believe them capable of damn near anything."

"So how do we know? What if they're doing something to us? How could we tell?" the driver's voice shook, and he was glancing from side to side.

"If I knew that. I'd be a much happier man. Depending on what the answer was, at least," Forrest replied.

"Yeah, the answer to those questions could make you awfully unhappy," Tyler agreed. "Remind me to take my vitamin when we get back to base. I forgot it this morning."

Forrest nodded, settling down to keep an eye on the Hostiles. He'd taken his today, just like he was supposed to, never mind the fact that it was a large, vile tasting pill. As he pondered the many questions, he wondered why they had to take special vitamins anyhow when there were so many different ones available over the counter. Wouldn't it be simpler for the doctors not to have to worry about making certain every soldier had their monthly bottle of vitamins?

End part 59.


	24. parts 60 to 62

Just to be sure, they'd waited for reinforcements before entering the Magic Box. Jake and Rudy had been taken to the hospital, the paramedics on the first ambulance insisting, "God alone knows what sort of bacteria festers in the mouths of creatures here, and you're going to get that hand looked at right now. Otherwise you might need to have it amputated after you catch some strange strain of infection."

Considering the way strange things happened in this town, there hadn't been more than a token protest from Rudy, "I can still provide cover for the rest of us when we try to figure out what the hell that was and why it was in a store."

"We'd rather make sure that you can still provide cover next month and the month after that," the paramedic had retorted.

Paul took a deep breath before they entered the building, weapons drawn. A corner of his mind sent up a prayer that there wouldn't be any other strange and dangerous creatures inside. Two injured men were on the floor close to the door, one of them moving slowly, attempting to get up while bleeding from multiple locations on his chest and arms. The one on the floor wasn't moving, but bleeding from similar wounds. At a guess, it looked like the creature that had got Jake and Rudy had taken them down as well.

Neither one looked like shopkeepers, and guns were on the floor near both of them. Unfortunately, they'd need medical attention before he could arrest them. The paramedics started taking care of them, while one of the newly arrived officers stood watch, just in case the one who'd been trying to stand up pulled anything stupid.

The rest of the shopping area was still a mess, but there weren't any other people or dangerous creatures. Some shelves had been messed up a bit, and a table with baskets of polished stones had been spilled. Making a note to avoid stepping on those, Paul moved deeper into the store. There would be some more rooms for storage, receiving and an office, and those were normally in the back. They'd have to check the non-public area as well. There was the expected door to the back, a nice solid thing instead of some flimsy curtain of beads, which wouldn't have been surprising in a shop like this.

There were four gouges in the door, near the knob. They were obviously fresh, and several had splinters sticking up, one of which was dark with blood. "So the furry biting thing came out this door. Time to see what's behind door number one…"

For a second, he debated how to proceed – slowly and announcing himself or with swift, silence in case of attack. No, after that beast, anyone inside would be down, and wary if they were still alive. Opening the door, he called, "Police, remain still."

A blond who might not have even been legal to drink was there, shaking as she leaned against a table. The air shimmered around her, and she was tense, ready to run at any moment. Beside a broken wire door, a couple crouched, both bleeding from gunshot wounds and watching him with eyes far older than their faces. Near them, another of the dark-clad intruders curled, clutching at his burned hand and bleeding from several slashes, a gun that had melted like plastic on the floor beside him. Paul decided that he wasn't going to ask how the hell that had happened. There was another door, likely to an office, and it was half open, with a trembling blond holding a cell phone.

Phone-girl tried to smile, "I w-was hoping that you'd g-get here in t-time."

Looking back at the wounded people, Paul snorted before he could contain it. "This is in time?"

"None of us have died yet, and the insurance should cover the property damages," the bleeding woman replied.

"Ow… now isn't the time to think of insurance honey," the young man hissed. "Now is the time for bandages, and aspirin, and convincing the officer not to shoot us."

"I'm not planning to shoot anyone, but I'd like someone to tell me what's going on," Paul grumbled, lowering his weapon. He didn't put it away, but there was no need to point it at them. Turning slightly, he called, "We have injured people in here!"

Looking back at them, he sighed. "Now, can I get some answers for what happened here?"

"They attacked my shop!" The bleeding woman snapped, glaring at the burned man. "Things got broken, and they ignored the locked door, and they broke the merchandise without buying it first, and…"

"Th-they attacked us," whispered the girl with the phone. "A-and he h-had h-h-handcuffs on his b-belt, and…"

Paul started writing. He kept writing as the paramedics tended the bullet wounds on the couple. Somehow, no matter how much they said, it didn't answer everything, and his headache was getting much worse.

God, he hated working in Sunnydale. Weird shit like this kept happening.

End part 60.

Vic scowled down the hall, as if his glare was enough to produce more soldiers. There had been a few that he'd taken care of earlier, but they hadn't been much of a challenge. He wasn't surprised that they didn't want to play if they weren't ambushing someone guns first. Not surprised, but he was disappointed.

There were strange smells coming from the hallway here the cells were, and for a moment, he wanted to go investigate them. He was a cat, after all, it was in his nature to be curious. He just wasn't curious enough to go looking for cages. No matter how interesting they smelled.

Growling, he wandered back towards the room where the women were waiting. Still no more soldiers.

Tapping at the frosted window with his claws, he demanded, "Are you done yet?"

In a whisper, he heard the X-Man ask, "Are you done with that download? If this takes much longer, he's going to go on a rampage."

He made a face at the door, a silent snarl. Not that she was entirely wrong, but it was hard to rampage without people to rampage against.

"Just a moment… done. As soon as I get everything packed up again, we can go," Willow's voice, remarkably calm. "And stop worrying so much. We'd know if he was rampaging, there'd be screaming, and probably gunfire."

"Good to know there's someone thinking," Vic grumbled. "If there's nobody to fight and the download's done, let's go."

"Okay already. Disks are in, laptops in the backpack, we can go." Willow moved towards the door, shrugging her laptop-in-the-backpack over her shoulders.

"And if we sneak back out the way we came in, there shouldn't be any problems. Hopefully the rest of the soldiers will stay wherever they are long enough for us to leave…"

"Where are they anyhow?" he glanced at Willow, certain that she had an answer. She'd planned this thing out. "And how long will they be there?"

"I'm not sure of the exact location, we had them out dealing with a huge mass of demons and vamps somewhere in the old industrial section. Enough that they sent out most of their soldiers to deal with them…" she glanced at something that looked like a cell phone before continuing, "Five teams there, and there's two on cemetery patrols. They've got vans on their way back here, so we'd best hurry."

"I can deal with soldiers," Vic grinned, knowing that his sharp teeth made the expression less reassuring.

"We can't deal with bullets as easily as you," the X-woman muttered, her scent speaking of distinct unease at the idea. "And it might be worse to be taken alive."

He had to agree with the second part of what she'd said. With this sort, being taken alive was a bad thing. Come to think of it, she was right about the first part too. Annoyed, he growled.

Everything was boring as they headed for the stairs. Boring up the stairs and out of the hidden complex.

Stepping outside, he took a deep breath, feeling much better out of the military complex. And on the air, he smelled dead things, blood, hunger and rage. Vampires… He could feel his lips pulling back as he growled, turning to try to find them.

"Something's wrong…" the X-woman whispered, suddenly nervous again.

"Hmm, Sunnydale, at night. Most likely vampires," Willow muttered, searching through her backpack. "I know I had a couple stakes in here…"

"Things are looking up," Vic turned, facing the closest vampire. "I was getting bored."

The vampires charged, fangs bared and eyes filled with blood-lust. Vic flung himself gleefully into the fight, noting and dismissing the single word that the redheads muttered in unison – 'guys.'

End part 61.

"So you do this on a regular basis?" Scott asked, glancing over at Buffy. The pair of them had fled after the arrival of the soldiers, not wanting to be caught up in the fight. Now, they were trying to catch their breath in an empty park. "Because if not, you don't have to go to this much trouble to keep me entertained."

"Well, there's normally not so many baddies in one place, and I'm not used to the soldier-types showing up, but yeah. Life as the Slayer. Not so fun, lots of baddies after my head. On the bright side, I've got a great metabolism," Buffy tried to grin, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"This is dangerous," Scott looked around, scanning for more enemies. "Since I know you aren't just going to stop…"

"I can't just stop. Destiny may suck, but it won't let me quit unless it's fatally," Buffy interrupted.

"I wasn't suggesting that. I was going to say that when we get back to our base, I'll have some things made up for you, something like our uniforms. Something more protective than that," he gestured at her clothing as he finished.

"What's wrong with this? Lavender's a good color for me," Buffy frowned, looking at her shirt.

"Let me send you something more durable to wear. I'm trying to be a protective older cousin," Scott reached out, ruffling her hair. "Maybe they can even make it lavender for you."

"New clothes? That's the sort of protective that I can deal with," Buffy grinned. "But maybe not quite so uniformy as what you and Jean have?"

"Not a problem, now let's be sure that we're out of their range," Scott said.

They left the industrial area, though it didn't look as if much of anything had been used for industrial purposes in the last decade or so. They'd made a quick pass though a few beaches, and Buffy had muttered something about a swim team, though she hadn't explained it in any detail. There had also been a pile of seaweed and scales the size of Scott's palm, which had made Buffy frown and mutter about talking to Giles.

She'd also picked up one scale very gingerly and tucked it into her jacket pocket, explaining, "It's easier to match the real baddie to the pictures in the books if you have as much info as possible. Right now, we've got beach-thing, seaweed, blue scales that are this big, and out at night. The night thing could be tidal instead of solar."

"What happens when you know what left the scale?" Scott asked.

"Really depends on what it is. It it's just hanging out, I do nothing. If it's planning to eat the beach-goers, I need to figure out how to kill it," Buffy shook her head, suddenly frowning at her feet. "I hate getting sand caught in my shoes…"

Scott just laughed at her.

"Do you think Tara will write? I mean, I'm pretty sure that she's going to your school, and I know that she and Willow have been friends, so…" Buffy let her words trail off.

"There's nothing to stop her from writing if she wants. We try to encourage our students to make friends, in and out of the school. One of the things we'd like out of the future is peace between humans and mutants, and that requires people to get along," Scott shrugged, glancing off at the stars. "In practice, it doesn't always work so well. A lot of the students don't have anywhere to go back to, their parents kicked them out or were too frightened of them to ever make that feel like home."

"Well that sucks."

Scott only nodded. There really wasn't anything more that he could say, Buffy's words summed up the problems of life in three short words.

Meanwhile, one police officer and two of the still-unidentified men who had attacked the Magic Box were being treated at the hospital for animal bites. Many stitches had been required for the intruders, and a dozen for the officer, as well as several preventative shots. A full round of rabies preventatives were scheduled for later, as nobody could give anything more specific about the attacking animal than 'large, light brown fur, and big, big teeth.' They just had to hope that it wasn't carrying anything contagious.

Tara, Charlie, Xander and Anya had been examined by the paramedics, given their statements to the police, and told that they were free to go. Tara and Charlie had been there studying, as there was a rather loud party in Tara's dorm at college; Anya had been working that night to close the store; Xander was her boyfriend, and had wanted to drop by and visit her. Tara was a good friend of Xander's almost-sister, so any friend of Willow's was a friend of his, and they weren't a problem to have around. Anya's admitted to drafting them to help move some stock anyhow.

It was a rather thin collection of truth, near-truth and fabrication. Charlie was astounded that the police had accepted their story, though Xander dismissed it as 'good ol' Sunnydale denial at work'. Xander and Anya had been treated and released, given a prescription for painkillers and antibiotics, and told to take things easy for a while and let the wounds heal. Nobody said anything about the melted gun. Nobody asked about it either.

"If it weren't for the demons, the vampires, and the constant danger, I could get used to this denial thing," Charlie had mused.

Tara giggled, "Except for that, yeah. The weather's nice, other than that time that it rained frogs, and the beach is lovely."

"It rained frogs?" Charlie wrinkled her nose, considering what that would look like. Somehow she doubted that they'd just ended up on the ground, hopping about and sitting on cars croaking at people. "Gross."

They had ended up in the apartment that Xander and Anya shared, not feeling safe at the Magic Box, and none of them had even considered loitering at the hospital. Relaxing into the soft chairs and couch, they took a moment to consider things. Finally, Xander asked, "What happens next?"

End part 62.


	25. parts 63 to 65

"Now? I think now is the time to get as far from Sunnydale as we can. That school sounds good," Tara mused. "It's not that you haven't been good friends or that I don't appreciate everything, but…"

"But you're afraid that something will eat you?" Anya offered.

"Or worse. There's things far worse than being killed and maybe eaten by some monster, or even eaten and then killed. Like being taken by those guys after Charlie, or turned into a vampire. Seeing everybody I care about beaten to keep me in line," Tara whispered, her eyes not focused on anything in the apartment. "There are things worse than death."

"The ones who really know what they're doing don't have to beat your nearest and dearest up to control you. They either become your nearest and dearest or leave you knowing that if you don't do what they want, they'll hurt or kill people. The threat can become as powerful as if they hit your father, and drugs can do far more than hitting someone. Drugs can make what they want seem reasonable, good. It makes it so very easy to listen to them and let them do all the thinking."

Xander glanced at Tara and Anya, both of whom were gaping at Charlie. He thought about what she'd just said and the fragments of what the Soldier from that Halloween had remembered, and shivered. "Is that the voice of experience?"

"They caught me once," Charlie admitted.

"What happened?" Tara reached out, her hand settling beside Charlie's.

"Did they… I know some spells that can make their insides writhe like serpents. Or there's this interesting one that feels remarkably like their abdominal cavity's been stuffed full of natron while their brains are pulled out through their nostrils with bronze hooks… Gods those Egyptians were creative. Or flesh-eating scarabs. Maybe a simple disease to make their flesh rot and fall off, starting with their penises," Anya's voice faded into thoughtful silence.

"In case you're still with the scary visual place, that's Anya offering helpful vengeance. She's a bit graphic at times, but I don't know what I'd do without her," Xander hugged Anya, keeping her pulled against him.

"I was seven. They shot us with tranquilizers, kept us locked in separate rooms and fed us pills to make us cooperate. Lots of happy pills to make it too hard to think at first and then too cheerful to be angry or worried. The same people who killed my mom. And then they made a few offers. If I'd answer some questions, I could go out into the gardens. I could ride the horses. And even better, by showing them what I could do, by doing a few little tests, I could learn to control it, it wouldn't be the scary, strange ability that had frightened my Daddy. And there was a guy who was nice, who talked to me and wasn't afraid, a guy who made me think he was my friend." Charlie wasn't looking at them, and her hand had closed around Tara's.

"I don't know too many girls who didn't like horses at seven," Tara nodded.

"Let me guess, they told you… no, the guy who seemed so nice told you that if someone didn't cooperate, they'd decided that your Daddy was just deadweight and then they'd kill him. You had to give a little to keep him alive. And if you told them what you'd do, then they weren't really controlling everything, you could turn things around?" Xander's voice seemed older, and there was something different about the way he shaped his words.

Charlie nodded with a small sniff. "I'm not going to ask how you knew that."

"I will. How did you know all that? I mean, it's the perfect way to manipulate someone, and pretty sneaky," Anya twisted around, giving Xander a quick kiss. "I like sneaky and smart, we could go back to our room…"

"It's the Hellmouth learning curve, and we can go back later, sweetie. I'd rather wait until we don't have company. People can be scum sometimes, and it's really disappointing to know that it's not just evil mayors and vampire overlords."

"I think they can keep us safer there than we are here. And maybe they can figure out why Mystique was so interested in my family. And if I go there, they'll understand the part about not wanting to see my relatives ever again. Some of them at least," Tara stammered.

"You think we'll be safer there, or you know? You are the one who said she got visions," Charlie asked, glancing at her hand and lifting it to look at Tara's fingertips. "Will they find me there?"

"I don't know," Tara blushed, her thumb curling over Charlie's hand. "But I'd like to not have to hide myself anymore. To be able to just be me and not hide what I can do, to not worry that I'll be called a freak."

"Not to have everybody afraid of me because of what I can do," Charlie agreed.

"If I still had…" Anya's words were cut off by Xander's hand over her mouth.

"That's not a conversation for here and now. We don't need to scare Charlie with too much about the Hellmouth all at once, do we?" Looking over at Charlie, he continued, "You aren't the first female hanging around who could hurt someone easily. Buffy could break me in half without breaking a sweat. Willow's got the magic, and I have no idea what all she could do with that. Willow… let's just say there's a guy out there with an amazing personality change thanks to Willow, and I don't ever want to get on her bad side. Another witch we knew turned someone into a rat once, and later ratted herself. I may not have power, but I'm used to having people around who do."

"All that and he's a nice guy," Tara whispered. "If not for the fact that Anya's got him and he's not my type, I'd go for him. I don't know how many people I've heard say they'd like a guy like that."

"So, why isn't he your type? He's got a job, he's fairly smart, a nice guy, not afraid of someone being different; what more could you ask for?" Charlie arched one eyebrow.

"I'd like all that in a more feminine package," Tara whispered, her cheeks pink as she ducked her head, hiding behind her hair.

Xander just rubbed his temples, now understanding why Giles polished his glasses so much. "A lesbian. Tara's a lesbian… no, a lesbian, mutant witch. Okaaay."

"Is that a problem?" Anya asked, then frowned, "Wait, you're mine. She can't have you even if she wasn't a lesbian."

"No, I was actually thinking that Tara being a lesbian is a big improvement over someone thinking I'm a nice guy but they're some sort of carnivorous demon who wants to feed me to her spawn or she thinks I'm great but she just wants to suck the life out of my friends so we can go to the party that evening. Comparatively, the fact that Tara likes girls instead of guys is pretty minor," Xander shrugged.

"And I have the feeling there are some strange stories behind that statement," Charlie muttered.

"I get that feeling a lot with them," Tara agreed.

"I just wish that those people would know what it's like to be chased and hunted by someone who just wants to use you as a tool or kill you," Charlie grumbled.

"Gra… damn, I can't do it like that anymore," Anya complained. "I still might be able to manage something."

"Wait, didn't the police say something about one of them going to the hospital after getting bit by that dog? The dog that was really the Oz-wolf?" Xander started to grin. "I think they might get a few ideas about being chased. I wonder what happened to that guy who wanted to sell werewolf pelts to Nepal?"

End part 63.

Riley Finn knew that he had a few faults – everybody had some. He just didn't agree that being a morning person was one of them. Sunrises were peaceful, a sign of new beginnings. Since joining the Initiative, they were also a sign that he'd survived another night. The early mornings were good times to think.

He'd been thinking about two major things; Buffy, and the Initiative. Buffy was pretty, interesting, and completely different from anyone he'd dated before. He didn't even have the words to describe her, but he wanted to learn more. As for the Initiative, the idea was good – defend against scary things that most people didn't even know existed. But the things that Forrest had uncovered were horrible. They were supposed to protect, not kidnap just because someone was different, not torture something to death because it had fur, or scales, or bled a different color.

The goal of the Initiative didn't seem to match what he'd been told the goal was. He couldn't just walk away; not only were there oaths and responsibilities and legal issues, he couldn't stand the idea of abandoning people to some of the dangers that he knew were out there. Maybe not so much the mutants, but the vampires and those slimy things that had been digging up bodies in the cemeteries and that fish-thing that they'd caught at the docks - those were dangers that needed eliminated. There were a lot of people who couldn't defend themselves, and he wanted to help defend them.

Which was supposed to be Buffy's mission. What sort of demented world was he living in where monsters were real, his tiny girlfriend was supposed to slay them, and the scientists of the United States military were doing things that might have made Hitler proud? The world was all cracked up.

He still wanted to date Buffy, monster-hunting or no monster hunting, assuming that she'd have him.

"Stop thinking about her, Romeo," Forrest's voice came from the porch.

Riley turned to look, startled at the very idea of Forrest being awake near dawn. One look assured him that Forrest hadn't become a morning person, the bloodshot eyes and slight drooping of his posture left no doubt that Forrest just hadn't gotten to bed yet. "Busy with papers, or busy thinking?"

"Both. Damn if I know how you haven't gone around the bend from all the paperwork," Forrest shook his head as he leaned against the porch railing. "Maybe it's a benefit of working with the Psych department. Some of what's going on… it's ugly. It's ugly and I don't understand how it can be approved of in America."

"What else?" Riley knew that Forrest was thinking about more than just what was going on right now. Forrest thought too much sometimes, and not enough at others. Not nearly enough when it came to women.

"If we… they… with what's going on right now, assuming that it is officially ordered and approved, what's going to be going on next year? Two years from now? Five? Ten? Is this the way people felt in Berlin when Hitler first started coming to power? He said that if he ran things, he'd rebuild the German economy and make their nation strong. He just didn't say that it would be built on dead bodies and fueled by suffering. Now, our leaders are saying they'll fix the economy and take care of the mutant problem. I just hope they don't mean the same thing as when Hitler said he'd take care of the Jewish problem."

"Damn, those are ugly thoughts. No wonder you can't sleep," Riley said. He didn't know what the future held, and he didn't like what Forrest had already said, what he'd seen. "Too bad I don't have any answers for you."

"What do you know?" Forrest shoved at his arm, trying to grin. "With that big head of yours, there'd better be something in it."

Riley glanced towards the college, and sighed, "Most freshmen psych papers are crap, half of them don't follow directions, and I'd still like a chance for things to work out with Buffy. And Douglas Adams claims that The Answer, to Life, the Universe and Everything is forty two."

"Yeah, forty two. But what's the question?" Forrest grinned, and this time it was a real smile. "The measurements of the Galactic Playmate centerfold?"

"I don't know. Why don't you go get some sleep," Riley pushed his friend back towards the dorm.

Maybe things had a chance after all. Buffy and her friends had a plan, hopefully a good one. He'd be there for Forrest, and with luck, Buffy's plan would bring a stop to the horrible things. And then he could take Buffy to a movie Friday. A guy could dream.

End part 64.

Rupert Giles hadn't expected to see anybody else's jackets hanging on his coat-rack when he went towards the kitchen. Expectations aside, there was Willow's jacket, and another one that he didn't recognize. Willow's laptop was tucked under the coffee table, with Willow herself draped in his recliner and someone else under a blanket on the couch, with fuzzy blue socks sticking out from under the blanket's end.

He wasn't about to try to get answers before he'd had his morning tea. Not considering the situations that his children often found themselves neck-deep in. Considering that there was no evidence that the first-aide kit had been used, things should be able to wait that long at least.

Buffy had called him at a dreadful hour, reporting that she and Scott had returned from their evening walk, and that things had gone as expected. She'd then added that her mom wasn't in, and had demanded to know if her mom had been out late with 'that guy' on a date.

Being a Watcher demanded at least some level of intelligence, and surviving on the Hellmouth demanded sense. Heeding both qualities, he had refused to get into an argument with Buffy over her mother's dating or whatever else she might be doing, and had only said that he'd heard nothing from her that night, but he was sure she could handle at least a basic level of safety, considering that Buffy had sworn she'd explained everything needed to do so.

Buffy and Scott had intended to lead the soldiers to the location of a large gathering of demons and vampires, and he was relieved that they had managed to do so safely. Unsurprisingly, the rest of the patrol had been calm, though she'd said something about the beach before amending her statement to a claim that she'd explain it all tomorrow, or rather this afternoon. He could only hope that it would be that simple.

No sooner had he poured himself his first cup of tea than the telephone rang. Lifting the receiver, he offered, "Rupert Giles speaking. Who is calling?"

'Mister Giles, my name is Paul Blaisdell. I'm an officer with the Sunnydale police department, and I'm calling in connection to an incident that occurred at your store last night. The Magic Box? One of the witnesses mentioned your name,' the man's voice was slightly familiar.

"Yes, I do own the store. What happened, Officer Blaisdell?" Rupert sipped at his tea, wondering if this was going to be one of those wretchedly interesting and eventful days. "I believe Anya was supposed to be there, working. You mentioned that there were others?"

'Yes, one Xander Harris, who is apparently Miss Emerson's fiancé, a college student named Tara MacClay, and Tara's friend Charlie…. I don't seem to have a last name for her. About five seven, blond hair and blue eyes? Do you recognize those names?'

"Xander is indeed Anya's fiancé, and I'm not surprised that they were both there. I haven't known Tara quite as long, she seems rather quiet. I've been talking about hiring another clerk, she might have been there talking to Anya about some of the finer details… What happened at my shop?" Giles rubbed at his temple, hoping that his words would provide a cover for the teens. Normally, any half-plausible excuse was seized, he wasn't sure if it was because the police didn't want to try to explain the things they saw or if they didn't want to believe what they had seen and were just as desperate for a new explanation as some of the teens at the high school. If the police had been involved… Oh dear, last night was the full moon. He hadn't mentioned Oz at all, had the werewolf gotten loose?

'From the evidence and the interviews with the witnesses, it seems there was an attempted burglary that went wrong. Several currently unidentified men have been taken into custody, and there was some property damage. Miss Emerson has already started the proceedings for the insurance claim. And someone appears to have had a rather large and temperamental dog inside the store, which escaped and bit several of the burglars.'

"Oh dear," he sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "I'm certain that Anya can handle the insurance matters, she's quite capable in all regards that involve money. That's why she does the accounting as well. I'll have to speak to them about the matter of a dog."

'Mister Giles, can you think of any particular reason that your store would have been a target?"

"Other than the cash register, there's nothing particularly…" Rupert paused, his mind trying to sort through quickly. The 'unidentified men' probably weren't vampires, but if they had specifically attacked his store, they must have been after something. Could they have been seeking magical artifacts or ritual materials? Or… maybe they had been more of the people chasing Charlie? Damn, that wouldn't be a good answer at all. He'd best try something and hope that it worked. "Some of the herbs that we sell may cause mild hallucinations if the fumes are inhaled. Others have reputations that exceed their abilities. Could the burglars have been seeking those?"

'I suppose that's a very good possibility, Mister Giles. We'd like for you to come down to the station and give us a proper report, and have someone accompany you to the store so that you can give us a report of anything missing or damaged. Miss Emerson gave one, but it would be nice to have a second one on file.'

"Yes, of course. Give me a half hour and I'll be there," he took a large swallow of the tea, wincing at the temperature.

It wasn't until the officer hung up that he realized what else had been said. Several of the burglars had been bit by 'a large dog' that was probably Oz, transformed. That couldn't be a good thing. "Blast."

"Giles?" Willow's voice was still sleepy, and she shuffled into view, her hair sticking up in strange directions. "Who was that?"

"Officer Paul Blaisdell of the police. Something happened, they believe it was an attempted burglary at the Magic Box. I need to go talk to them, and you need to find Oz. Apparently, someone had a rather large dog in the shop last night," Rupert finished the tea, and sighed. "This was supposed to be a quiet day."

"In Sunnydale?" Willow shook her head, floating another tea cup out of the cupboard. "Optimist."

"Yes, well… I should be back later. Buffy mentioned something about the beach, be sure that she explains if I'm a while with the police," and with that, he set out for the car.

It was days like this that he wondered why he didn't just go back to England.

End part 65.


	26. parts 66 to 68

Jean Grey sipped at a cup of lemon tea, trying to make sense out of Sunnydale. Demons, vampires, underground military bases with strange experiments… And she couldn't forget Scott's cousin and her friends. Or the fact that Scott's cousin's mom was currently out on a date with Sabertooth.

"This place makes no sense at all."

"Now that you've realized that, you're on your way to adapting," Willow smirked over her laptop. "You know that the line is back that way when things start making sense again, and then it's too late, your life will never be the same again."

"Trying to ignore the strangeness of this place, have you made any progress with those disks?" Jean tried not to admit that she was wondering how any of this made sense, and how long it had taken for it to look like it did to the younger redhead. "And are you sure that Mr. Giles won't mind us being here while he's at his shop? He seemed rather upset this morning."

"No, that was mildly upset, not rather upset. Anya might have been exaggerating the problems at the shop; she sometimes has a bit of trouble remembering that the deed says Rupert Giles instead of Anya Emerson. Beyond that, I recognized the name of the officer that called. His younger brother was in our graduating class, he's not going to throw the book at us."

"Right. The decryption? And have you heard from Scott or Buffy this morning?" Jean sipped her tea, wishing that she'd brought her headache medicine with her.

"Coming along nicely, and no. Anybody in particular you want it to be sent to when I've got it done?"

"Several places, but we'll need the decryption to be finished first," Jean rubbed at her temple, wincing.

"Hang on," Willow stepped over, and placed her hands beside Jean's temples, not quite touching. Murmuring something in a language Jean couldn't identify, there was a faint glow and warmth that surrounded her hands before sinking into Jean's head.

"My headache… how'd you do that?" Jean blinked, amazed at the sudden lack of pain.

"Magic, of course," Willow grinned back. "Useful for all sorts of things, both big and little. But sometimes the little ones are better. In this case, I don't know what sort of medicine you're taking for your headaches, but too much of it would be bad, and you look like it hurts. It's also good for that thing just a few inches out of reach on the top shelf."

"Useful," Jean murmured, remembering times when she'd used her telekinesis for things on the top shelf or the back of a cupboard. "Is there anything that I can do to make this go faster?"

"I need to go find Oz," Willow bit her lip, thoughts whirling as she paused. "If you can stay here and keep the decryption going while I go looking for him? I already checked and he's not at the police station, the hospital or the pound, so…"

Jean tried to stop herself, but the question slipped out, "Why would he be at the pound?"

"Considering that you're already complaining that the Hellmouth makes no sense and gives you headaches, I don't think you want to know." Willow sighed, "I just hope he didn't do anything he's going to regret."

Jean decided that for today, she would resist her scientific curiosity. With the existence of vampires, magic and God only knew what else, she probably didn't want to know. "I'll keep working on the program then. I should only need to change the disks, and click okay and continue a few times."

As Willow left the apartment, Jean decided that she wasn't going to try to figure out what the full moon had to do with Oz and his behavior. Psychological studies had shown a correlation between violent or unstable behavior and the lunar phases, and that would be more than enough in this town. Instead, she decided to try to contact Scott, and maybe to check in on his aunt Joyce.

Reaching out with her mind, Jean focused her thoughts on Scott. She'd trusted him to watch out for her in situations far more dangerous than decrypting computer files, and he held a special place in her heart. If she had the chance for 'happily ever after', she wanted it with him. :Scott? How did things go last night:

:Strangely. And I promised Buffy that we could get her some leather outfits that weren't quite like the uniforms, and maybe in lavender: Scott's mind felt tired, and there were fragmentary images. :Can you check on Aunt Joyce? I went back to her house last night and there were dark vans on the street, and lights on in the house. Things didn't look pretty.:

Jean sucked in a deep breath:Do you think the soldiers know what happened? Some form of retaliation, or an attempt at a hostage:

:I've had too many ugly suspicions. Sticking to facts, there were dark vans when I know she doesn't have any. She didn't mention any visitors, and I know that none of us were using any of the upstairs rooms. I'd feel much better if we could find her and make sure that everything's safe. Even if it means that she's with… Creed's probably better than some governmental Black Ops team.: Scott was trying to force back ugly images of rooms disturbed, fragments of movies with people kidnapped, tortured and brainwashed, or of people who just vanished. :Buffy doesn't know, she thinks her mom is out with Creed. I'd rather she kept thinking that until we know otherwise.:

Jean sent the equivalent of a nod, trying not to send the idea that it must have pained Scott to suggest that his Aunt with Sabertooth was in any way a good idea. :I'll look into things. If need be, I can see what the neighbors thought or were told about the vans.:

For a moment, Jean considered trying to contact Sabertooth to check on Joyce. After struggling to find a way to phrase the question without sounding like she was accusing him of something, she decided that it would be a bad idea. Considering his temper, the way he'd attacked those vampires, and the unfortunate history between him and the X-Men, she didn't want to do anything that could be taken poorly.

She also didn't think it would be a good idea to try to telepathically reach for Joyce. She would probably be able to recognize her mind, if the people driving the dark vans hadn't done anything horrible, but Joyce wasn't used to telepathic conversations. She and Scott had both enjoyed being around someone who wasn't afraid of them and also wasn't a mutant. Joyce and her acceptance gave her hope that the Professor's dream might be possible.

Willow's computer beeped, and Jean changed the disk. "I'm forgetting the obvious. Joyce has an art gallery; maybe I could call there and get in touch with her or someone who knows where she should be."

Flipping through the phone book, Jean decided that she was glad that Sunnydale had such limited opportunities. She hadn't remembered the name of Joyce's gallery, but she had remembered the street. "I'd never be able to find a gallery in New York with only a street and knowing the owner's name. Now I just need to hope that she's there, or at least somewhere safe."

Her fingers tapped impatiently as the phone rang, and she whispered, "Pick up, pick up. Someone needs to be there, preferably someone who can get me in touch with Joyce. Pick up already…"

'Painted Sunsets gallery, may I help you?' a woman's voice answered, traces of a Mexican accent flavoring her words.

"I'm trying to contact Joyce Summers," Jean forced her voice to hold steady. They couldn't afford to hint that anything could be wrong, not before they had more than fear and vans.

"Un momento, she's in her office. I will transfer the call to her," the voice seemed calm enough.

The woman wouldn't be that calm if Joyce had shown up injured, or terrified. Jean tried to view this as a good thing – they knew where Joyce was, and she was in good health. It would feel very relaxing to be able to hang up the phone and laugh about being too paranoid.

There was a click, and she could hear Joyce speaking to someone in the background. 'Ira, we need to have something to pass on before we get in touch with… let me take this call.'

Hope burned a bit brighter, and Jean spoke into the phone, "Joyce? Scott and I were wondering if everything was okay. He said there was some sort of traffic disturbance near your house last night."

'Oh yes. There were a few vans that left the road,' Joyce paused, and there was a muffled noise that could have been a question directed at her from someone else in the room. 'I didn't see what went on, but it certainly had people stirred up!'

"Good to know," Jean replied, wondering just what suspicions might be in Joyce's mind. "Scott and I were worried about you."

'Actually, I missed the whole thing. I happened to drop in to visit a friend of mine, and we ended up talking into the wee hours. You and Scott will have to come over for dinner.'

Jean had a brief image of spy movies, with houses dropped with so many listening devices that the agencies could tell who went to the bathroom when and how often, let alone whatever else they might have done or said. Unable to keep from shuddering, she countered, "Why don't we take you out for dinner? I feel bad about making you cook all the time, even though you make wonderful hot chocolate."

'That sounds nice,' Joyce murmured. 'I'll be done here at about six, if you'd rather just pick me up here?'

Jean tried not to let herself wonder if Joyce was reluctant to go into her house after last night. "That should be fine."

She just hoped that her words wouldn't turn out to be a lie.

End part 66.

"That was rather odd," Joyce mused, hanging up the phone.

"What was so odd? If your nephew doesn't see you very often, why not go out to dinner?" Sheila arched one eyebrow as she leaned back. "Oh dear, how old is this couch?"

"The problem isn't the couch, it's the fact that you aren't twenty anymore," Ira kissed the top of Sheila's head. "I think if I were Joyce, I'd be very careful what I said or did in that house until it's had a thorough inspection."

"Of course. The sort of people who do that wouldn't hesitate to try to listen in on your life. If only we knew why they'd swooped in on your house to begin with!" Sheila rubbed her temple, and sighed. "I hadn't thought I'd have to deal with this sort of thing again. Not even during the whole MOO disaster."

"You never did go into any details on that, dear" Ira commented.

"And I'm not planning to in the near future," Sheila retorted. "We need to focus on the current situation, not last year's insanity."

"I still don't know why they were in my house," Joyce sighed. In truth, she had two possibilities, and she didn't like the implications of either one. Her first thought had been that they had some idea about Buffy's special abilities, and were after the Slayer. Her second had been that they were after Scott and Jean, and that maybe some of those horrible rumors about things happening to mutants could be true.

"Nothing good, I'm sure." Sheila's snorted words summed up their feelings.

"If we had something, some sort of proof that we could distribute," Ira started to think out loud. "Between the three of us, we have the contacts, and computers give us the technology. Anything solid could be spread nation-wide within days, if not hours. Even if all we had was some very strong circumstantial evidence…"

"Stronger than unsubstantiated rumors or vans on my street," Joyce sighed. "The police said they couldn't find anything to prove who had been in my house, no fingerprints or any physical evidence that we could use. As for the rumors, how could we prove that a mutant didn't just run away?"

"So many? Unlikely," Sheila snorted. "It's statistically unlikely, even if they all began to feel isolated or unable to properly relate to their peers. And from the papers, most mutants appear no different from everybody else."

"Maybe your nephew will be able to find something," Ira offered.

"I suppose that's a possibility," Joyce agreed. Considering that Scott and Jean had mentioned a special school, they might have a very good idea about some of the rumors. And if they hadn't heard, then they needed to know what was being said. "Sounds like a topic for dinner discussion."

"Be sure that he knows we can get information around quickly," Sheila taped the couch. "Ira and I both have plenty of connections."

Joyce nodded, "Don't worry, I'll remember."

"This town has plenty of reasons to worry," Ira scowled.

End part 67.

Willow walked through the gates of Our Lady of Peace cemetery, a folded up blanket in her arms. The grass was growing tall, and it tangled at her feet, yellowing and sharp edged. Glaring at the sharp edges, she muttered, "Too many vampires in the area – even the grass is trying to bite."

The tiny green light danced, resembling a firefly more than anything else. While she was glad that Oz wasn't in jail, or the pound, or at the hospital, it had left her with no idea where to look for him. This locator spell had sounded like a good idea, and she'd been wanting to try it since she and Tara had found it last month. Her mind had immediately brought up a dozen times when it would have been great to cast a spell and know where someone was. Willow ignored the fact that she hadn't even known magic was real for half of them, and that she couldn't have cast it for most of the rest.

The light danced in front of a mausoleum, twinkling and changing to a more golden color.

"Oz, I hope you're okay," Willow murmured, her hand touching the door. The hinges had been twisted until they'd separated, one from the door and the other from the doorframe, leaving the door fallen at an angle.

Oz lay on the floor, his pale skin mottled with bruises and slashes. Dust motes shimmered in the sunlight that came through the window opposite the door.

Willow darted forward, mouth open in a wordless gasp. He looked terrible, and she had no idea what could have happened to cause this. Placing on trembling hand on his shoulder, she managed, "oz?"

He groaned, and managed to turn enough to face her. "Willow?"

"I'm so glad that I found you! Something happened at the Magic Box, and you ran out, and we didn't know where you were or if you were okay," Willow leaned forward, kissing the top of his head. "I brought a blanket."

Oz nodded, taking the blanket from Willow's hands. He lurched to his feet before wrapping it around him, blinking at the marble walls. After a few moments, he spoke, "There were men with guns."

"At the Magic Box?" Willow gasped. "Oh, that's bad. Why would there be people with guns breaking into a magic shop? I mean, we've had the baddies trying to get herbs and amulets, and once Spike trying to get a spell, but none of them ever needed guns. You didn't get shot, did you? Oh, what if Anya or Xander got shot? Or Tara and Charlie?"

Reaching out, Oz tucked a strand of Willow's hair behind her ear. "I've got bruises and scrapes, a few cuts, but no bullet holes."

Willow hugged him, holding him close enough to feel the warmth through the blanket. He was here, and safe, and they could take care of his injuries later. "Let's get out of here."

Oz waited until they were settled in the car before he said anything else. "How'd the plan go?"

"Things went fine for us. We got the disks, and they're decrypting now. None of us got hurt, and Vic seemed to have some fun with the vampires that tried to get us when we came out. Scott and Buffy called in the soldiers, and they were all out of our way. Buffy's still freaked out that her mom's dating," Willow smiled, her fingers trembling as she searched around the key-ring.

"Long-distance decryption?" Oz leaned against the door, a small smile on his face.

"Jean and I crashed at Giles' apartment last night. I left her to click buttons and change disks while I came to find you," Willow started the car.

"What do we do with it?" Oz picked up the half empty bottle of water and opened it up, taking a long swallow.

"That's the part we're still working on," Willow admitted. "Jean said that one of their friends knows a reporter, but that's probably not going to be enough. We need to make sure that if it's something big and bad, that it gets out and can't be squashed. And if it's medical, then… maybe Jean or someone she knows can help. It would be great if we had some sort of network, like what Mom talked about from when she was in college."

"Ask her," Oz suggested, his eyes closing.

For a moment, Willow doubted what she'd heard. Had Oz really just suggested that she ask her mom for help? The same mom who'd tried to burn her at the stake? The same mom who hadn't realized Willow'd cut six inches from her hair for almost a month? "I wouldn't have to tell her what it was about, I suppose. And with all of those conferences, she must know a lot of people. If we could get this to some of them, there'd have to be someone who'd say this sort of thing just isn't right."

"Maybe she could help," Oz took another drink of the water. "If she sees you as an adult dealing with a problem instead of her daughter…"

"That might help," Willow admitted. The idea that her mother couldn't relate to her as a parent was old, and only a dull ache now. But the thought of her mom treating her like an adult, of paying attention to what she said was new. It might be able to work, as long as her mom didn't get caught up in social groups and demographics to the point where she didn't listen.

"In the mean time, do you still have a spare set of clothing at Giles' apartment?" Willow glanced at Oz, hoping that he was still awake.

Oz only nodded.

"Right," Willow decided. "Pants first, and then we figure out how to inform the world."

End part 68.


	27. parts 69 to 71

Buffy smothered a yawn as Scott walked away from Stevenson Hall. By the time they'd finished the patrol he'd been exhausted, so she'd let him crash on the spare bed in her dorm-room. It had been pretty easy, she'd just told him he might as well sit down while she called Giles, and he'd been out cold by the time she'd hung up. Now he was off to talk to jean, and he'd promised to find out how Mom's date had gone last night.

Not that she liked the idea of her mom dating that guy. Vic Creed was big, and muscly, and every Slayer-sense she had insisted that he was dangerous. Granted, Scott and Jean had both said he was a mutant and not a demon, but she didn't trust him.

"Buffy! Hey."

Riley's voice startled her, and Buffy spun around, one hand closing into a fist as she searched for him. Her cheeks warmed as she realized that she was over-reacting, and she raised her other hand in a wave, "Hey yourself."

"You look like you could use some coffee. I'll buy," Riley offered.

"A mocha with whipped cream?" Buffy countered, raising one eyebrow.

"If you'd like. Lead the way," He reached towards her, a small smile on his face.

Buffy slipped her fingers between Riley's and started walking with him. Riley was a nice guy. Up until bumping into him on patrol, she'd also thought he was a normal guy. But she figured that she could deal with a military demon hunter boyfriend.

They ended up with a coffee and a mocha before Riley led her out to one of the sitting areas. It was out of the way, and quiet. Settling onto a stone bench, Buffy sipped at the mocha before asking, "Why all the way out here?"

"Nobody comes out here at this time of day, we'll be alone. There are some things," Riley paused, looking away from her to inspect his shoe, and then the little blue flower growing between two blocks of the sidewalk. "I think we need to talk a little about the nightlife around here."

Buffy took a gulp of her mocha, wondering if this was the end. Was Riley about to break up with her because of the demons? "Wh-what about the nightlife? I know the Bronze isn't the greatest club, but there aren't really a lot of options."

"Not that kind. I meant the demons and vampires," He looked at his shoe again before whispering, "and the soldiers."

"What about you guys?" Buffy looked at him, hoping that this would leave her wanting to break something.

"I'm almost positive that Prof… I mean, that the project director has exceeded orders. That what's going on is over and beyond what was supposed to be going on. Some of us are trying to figure out a way to go through channels to try to check on that," Riley took a drink of his coffee, and looked at her. "I'm worried for you."

"I've been slaying vamps and demons for years. I can handle this," Buffy insisted. If he tried to pull the 'little woman - avoid danger' line, she was going to hit him. "And it's not like I work entirely alone, I just don't have all the fancy toys you guys get."

"And what happens to you if someone higher up in the program wants to find out how you can handle yourself against the demons and vampires? What if they want to open you up and figure out how and why you can do those things?" the words burst out. "I don't want you to end up taken apart in the labs, Buffy."

Buffy's jaw dropped, and she couldn't manage to say a word. Blinking at Riley, she wanted to protest, to insist that nobody would do that. This was America, she had rights. Land of the free. They were the good guys, they didn't, wouldn't take someone apart in a lab. Especially not her. Except…

Except that there were always people who didn't go with the flow. They didn't follow the rules, and made problems. Hellmouthy, evil problems.

Finally, Buffy whispered, "I don't want to be taken apart in a lab either."

Riley's arms slipped around her, and he just held her close to him. Part of Buffy wanted him to tell her that it would be okay, to say that everything would be taken care of. A larger part of her knew that any such assurance would be a lie. Riley couldn't fix everything. They had no way of knowing if it would all be okay.

"Buffy?" Riley touched her cheek, watching her. "Is there… I mean…"

"I think it would have been a lot easier if you'd just said we had to break up. That would have hurt, but it would be simpler than over-reaching scientific people cutting someone up in a lab," snuggling closer to Riley, Buffy sighed, wishing that she could feel safe. She hadn't felt safe for a very long time. "But I'm glad you didn't want to break up."

Mad scientists lurking under the college cutting up demons, soldiers with fancy toys catching demons, and scary agents for some scary group of people chasing Charlie. And the usual demons, vampires and hellmouthy weirdness. Her mom dating. Buffy felt herself shudder, and tried to console herself with the fact that her boyfriend wasn't dumping her.

It didn't help very much.

End part 69.

The man in the gray suit was not amused. He leaned back in the chair, scowling at the group of operatives assembled in the room. "What happened? You have all the equipment you asked for, and all of you have spent years in training and field operations. Why is it that a simple strike at the home of a pair of women and a strike at new-age herbs, music, and pretty rocks results in two men in the hospital, a dead agent, another four with minor injuries, and no McGee? For that matter, where is Brunner?"

"I don't know, sir," one man offered, looking flushed. "They had some sort of dog in the back of the shop that came charging out from the back room. All I know is that Brunner was in the back, and the other two who were there with him are in the hospital still."

"One of them is there because of McGee. I've told you boys over and over not to let her get a clear line of sight on you, and that is exactly why," he scowled at the rest of the men who'd attacked the store. "Why didn't you shoot the damn dog?"

"It was too fast for us," another agent insisted, his bandaged arm in a sling. "The damn thing didn't run in a straight line either."

"Look on the bright side, dogs in residential areas are kept up on their shots. At least you won't catch anything," one of the others commented. "Of course, there weren't any dogs at the Revello Drive house. The microphones were planted, and we put a tracker in the suitcase of one of the guests. From the contents, she's a good looking red-head."

"Good. Half of my men are capable of following orders and performing a simple sweep. Where is McGee now?" growled the man in the gray suit.

Several uncomfortable moments passed as none of the agents wanted to admit to their ignorance. Charlene McGee had vanished in the chaos of the attack, and nobody knew her current location. She could have caught a plane or bus and left Sunnydale. Or a car, going anywhere but here at sixty miles an hour.

Scott Summers sighed as he walked down the street. It wouldn't be long now before they left Sunnydale, bringing three new students to Xavier's – Tara, Charlie and Justin. While it had been great to see Buffy and Aunt Joyce again, this town was insane. Demons and vampires, magic spells, books filled with prophecies written in foreign languages… He'd rather just deal with classes and politics.

Of course, there was the chance that whoever had been chasing Charlie might try to take her from Xavier's. If they'd been after her since she was little, leaving one small town in California wouldn't be enough to get rid of them. Maybe if all the agents managed to get eaten by demons…

He shook his head, muttering, "That's not funny. I shouldn't even joke about that sort of thing."

Knocking on Justin's door, he let his mind drift to possible class schedules for the three new students. Maybe Charlie could help the next time they needed to weld something. Tara might be able to help Jean and Hank in the medlab, if she could focus on parts of the body instead of other rooms. "I can't wait to get out of here."

"You got the right idea, man," Justin grinned at him. He held a pair of suitcases, both bulging at the sides. "Anywhere but here's got to be safer."

Scott returned the smile, "I'm not sure I'd go that far, but this place is very different. Why don't we take your things to the plane?"

"Sounds good," Justin stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. "I'll live longer and probably be happier."

In an office underneath the campus of Sunnydale University, Dr. Maggie Walsh picked up a folder. One hand was ready to jot down notes if she came across anything particularly useful, either as an intact specimen or as a system to give a closer inspection. Live specimens were really the best way to test certain things, and Sunnydale was an ideal place. Major cities were within a reasonable distance for travel, there were plenty of open areas to find specimens, and she had never heard of another area with so many examples of abnormal biology.

Sometimes she loved her work. The DRI had found several medical techniques and biological compounds that enabled techniques and procedures that were still decades of further research and testing away from use by civilian physicians and surgeons. The HST's enabled active testing of new weapons in field conditions. Better still, the conditions were similar to what actual use would be, and nobody was watching over them the way drug companies were studied. Nobody would be sending footage of their targets to ABC, and nobody would step in to 'protect' corpse-eating things the way someone would step in for a third-world nation or religious insurgents.

Nobody remained on site to watch over her either. Oh, there had been someone, but he'd run afoul of one of the more interesting creatures, and been ripped apart by a large, orange, horned beast with two heads. As long as she sent regular reports back along the chain of command, she was god out here. Her rule was uncontested, and all command cared about was if she sent reports and got results.

Maggie Walsh had always been one to get results. She sent back reports on the weapons performance, and every single report of failure, jamming, or breakage. They'd sent numerous specimens elsewhere for further autopsy. She'd even been able to test some of the enhancement procedures and the behavioral modification ships.

She wondered how Washington would react to her current project. ADAM was everything they wanted in a soldier, everything they'd been trying to work towards for decades. He had been reasonably intelligent, and she'd modified him to be stronger, more durable, and more versatile than a merely human soldier could ever hope to be. When combined with the behavioral modification chips, ADAM and others like him would be perfect. The ultimate soldier. Her results were much more predictable than the results of projects IX, X or XII.

Looking at a report on the effects of keeping the scaled sea-creature in dry air, Maggie Walsh smiled. If they could devise a way to make that sort of water survivability compatible with remaining out of the water for longer than four hours, they would have a formidable amphibious attack group. She couldn't have asked for a better situation.

End part 70.

Jean looked up as she felt Willow and Oz approaching the door to the apartment. Evidently Willow had been successful in finding her boyfriend, though she was still a bit unclear just how he'd become lost in the first place. The door opened, and Willow came inside, accompanied by a young man wrapped in a blanket.

"Pants," Oz murmured, giving her a nod before he moved towards the stairs. There was also a contemplation of what sort of things Willow and Jean would be able to collaborate on with the computers, the thought that Jean's hair was a few shades darker than Willow's and the thought that Jean had fewer freckles than Willow – at least, in the areas that he could see.

Jean blinked, realizing that Oz was naked under the blanket. Raising an eyebrow at Willow, she said, "Do I want to know why he needs to get pants from a room in Mr. Giles's apartment? How did he end up somewhere out there without pants anyhow?"

"We've all got a change of clothes or two here," Willow offered, sitting beside Jean and looking at the computer. "One of the hazards of slaying is getting slime and weird stuff on your clothing."

"So Oz ran into some sort of slime covered demon last night, and ended up wandering around without pants?" Jean gave Willow a look, not bothering to send the thought that she didn't believe that story.

"Not quite. Except that he did end up running around without the pants, but not due to slime," Willow paused, and looked at the stack of disks. "Have you been looking at any of this, or just decrypting?"

"Decrypting. Why?" Jean had the feeling that she was going to regret whatever Willow was going to say. It would be more of the strange and horrible things that only seemed to happen in Sunnydale.

"Oz is a werewolf," Willow picked up a case and started packing up the decrypted disks. "Whatever happened last night caused him to get out of the Magic Box."

"You mean, Oz changes into a wolf, like some sort of legend? How does that…" Jean paused, focusing for a moment on Oz's mind. She wasn't reading his thoughts, though she could tell that his mind was buzzing, just trying tog et a feel for his mind. He wasn't a mutant. There was something else, like a shadow of another mind alongside or maybe underneath his thoughts. A mind that reminded her a great deal of Sabertooth. "How?"

"There are theories that there was a powerful curse, or maybe some sort of totemic ritual gone wrong. Maybe an invocation of the power of a natural spirit. Giles would be able to tell you more of the theories, but we really don't know for sure why there are werewolves. Oz is one because he got bit by one, though we still aren't sure how he was… anyhow. Werewolves are real, and almost normal most days of the month. But Wolfy-Oz isn't the same as normal Oz, so we need to lock him up so nobody gets hurt," Willow glanced back towards her boyfriend, and sighed. "And we need to watch for that werewolf hunter. He said that he could sell a pelt to some place in Nepal, and then Buffy twisted his gun in a loop."

"But if werewolves are normal people most of the time…" Jean felt nauseous at the realization. "Murder for profit?"

"He's lucky that it was only his rifle that Buffy twisted into a new and interesting shape," Willow grumbled.

Jean shook her head, once again amazed and appalled by the things people did. Maybe she'd just check in with Scott and reassure him about Joyce and see how things were going where he was instead of letting herself think about werewolves. Or if she could check on the other two young mutants, that would be a good use of her time. "What's the number for Tara's cell phone?"

A number floated to the top of Willow's mind, and Jean nodded, punching it into her phone with an absent, "thanks."

Jean couldn't wait to get out of Sunnydale. Even with a school full of teenagers who made puberty even less fun by having mutant abilities, life was simpler. At least easier to understand than things here. Vampires. Magic. Werewolves.

As she waited for Tara to answer the phone, Jean looked at Willow. "Why are you so nervous about calling your mom?"

"Lack of communication combined with bad memories," Willow shook her head. "Maybe things will be easier if she can talk to me as an adult instead of her daughter."

Catching an image of a younger Willow, a younger Buffy and another girl their age tied to stakes with books tossed at their feet, Jean decided not to ask. Ever. On that thought, she decided not to complain any more about mutant teens arguing with each other about who stole the remote, left their shoes in the hall, and blasted the other's music with a maybe-uncontrolled energy surge.

Willow was looking at the decrypted files, making unhappy noises as she clicked. "This will make a lot of people very unhappy. Now if Mom can get the news around…"

End part 71.


	28. parts 72 to 74

In the end, Willow decided to approach the matter as if she didn't know Sheila Rosenberg. She would call her, and address things as if she only knew the woman by reputation, which was disturbingly close to the truth, and she'd wait and see just how long it took for her mother to realize that the dismayed and appalled psych major was actually her daughter. If she realized that it was her daughter. 

She wasn't sure if she wanted to get through the whole conversation without her mother realizing she was her daughter and deciding that this was 'just another phase' or some sort of 'cry for attention' or if she wanted her mom to recognize her voice. It might be easier to get the information out if her mother didn't know. But it would be a lot harder to deal with having that sort of confirmation that her mother knew so little about her life.

She made the call, introducing herself only as a concerned student at Sunnydale U. She said, truthfully, that she'd heard from her parents that Sheila Rosenberg had been able to get awkward but necessary information out before. Willow had confirmed that she'd 'found' some information now, awkward, and rather ugly. Information about illegal testing of drugs on students. Biological testing on kidnapped individuals that were probably mutants, though the files listed them as 'Hostile Sub-Terrestrials', and that the testing had resulted in deaths of most of the subjects. Files documenting the implantation of tracking chips and behavioral modification chips of varying degrees of effectiveness into unknowing individuals.

Sheila had been appalled at the things that she'd mentioned. Horrified at the depths that someone had reached, concerned for the unwitting recipients of both drugs and chips. Furious and horrified by the idea of so many 'mutants' being tested to death.

Willow didn't mention that she was sure most of the HST's had been demons, not mutants. She didn't think that really made things any better, and would prefer to not try to explain demons and magic and vampires to her parents. Even if her mom didn't know that it was her.

It had hurt when her mother had mentioned that she 'had a daughter that was just starting college, and she hoped would one day be as socially aware as you.' It had hurt more that her mom had thought she was studying computer science, and 'wasting her time partying with that Bunny girl'. She'd agreed to send the information to her mother's email address, and politely hung up the phone.

Then she'd picked up one of the cushions from the couch and pressed it against her face to muffle the scream. She wanted to throw something, to see things break and indulge in a horribly childish temper tantrum. Instead, she let herself scream into the cushion twice, and put it down, wiping at the tears.

Returning to her computer, Willow found a sheet of paper with unfamiliar handwriting. The decryption was still running, and Willow settled down, lifting the paper to read it.

Willow –

I'm off to help make sure everyone's ready to go soon. I'll feel much safer back at our school, where the dangers aren't things that jump out of the darkness and eat you. We need to make sure things are packed and ready to go in case things go sour, and that everybody is prepared, just in case they can't come back.

Scott will have to calm down about Joyce dating… though I think I agree with him. Some. Vic is a scary guy, with plenty of ugly things in his past – I wouldn't want Joyce to get hurt. Buffy will watch out for her though, and I think she could probably take him if he hurt her Mom.

Send the things to this email HMcCoy a Xaviers.gifted and he'll get it to some scientists and a reporter. It might not hurt to send them to CXavier a Xavier.gifted as well.

Jean

Nodding, Willow settled to finish the decryption. Once it was done, she'd send it to both of the emails that Jean had left, as well as two of the people that she'd been talking to for Giles from the Watcher's Council. They would have preferred to deal with Giles directly, at least at first, but Giles had more problems with computers than anyone she knew. More problems than Angel. More problems than Anya. Focusing back on the real issue, Willow started preparing two emails, one to send the decrypted information to her mother and Jean's people, and a second to send the same information to the two Watchers that she and Giles both felt placed the safety of the world and people above Council politics. Even if they didn't feel sorry for the demons at all – and it was very hard to feel bad that flesh-eating ghouls were dead – they would still agree that the things in those files were Bad.

One thing that Willow had learned in history class was that a bad idea didn't just crop up once and then vanish. Somewhere, there would be other people who had the horrible idea of experimenting on demons, if they hadn't already. It would be suggested by someone who didn't understand how dangerous it would be, and someone in authority who had even less idea of the angers would give approval, and then there would be a disaster. If she could get the information out, other people could help watch and try to prevent the disaster from happening.

The whole microchip thing was even more disturbing. Inserting microchips for tracking wasn't that new of an idea, she'd heard of it being done with GPS devices for vehicles and briefcases with important state secrets. She'd even heard about it for secret agents, though she was less sure if that was real or just amazing stories with just enough fact to sound real. But microchips to control behavior - scary. Really scary.

The information had to get out.

End part 72.

Tara put the last shirt into her suitcase, and leaned on it to zip it closed. She didn't want to leave anything behind. Not only because she wouldn't be coming back, but because if she did, it might be used to find her. She'd be able to use someone's shirt to find where they were now, and it would be stupid to assume that nobody else in her family could do the same. Not that Donnie or her father would ever admit to such an unnatural ability, but if they could find her, make her go back… It wasn't worth the risk.

Thinking of finding someone, Scott and Jean had been awfully worried about the blue woman. They'd called her Mystique, and had all sorts of fears about what she could be up to. Maybe she should try again to find her? Last time, the woman had been too far away, or hidden, or something to prevent a good image, but it wouldn't hurt to try again.

She picked up the paper that had the drawing of the blue woman, and focused on it. Tara tried to fill her mind with only two things – the image of this woman and a need to know where she was now. She was familiar with the light, floaty feeling that resulted, and concentrated harder.

The blue woman was standing in a dark room, with a blond man. Her hands were twisting over each other in the exact same way that her grandmother's had when Gran had been fretting over something. She appeared unaware of the fact that she was naked.

"Raven, you can't help her by tying your fingers in knots," the man smirked. He had a British accent.

"I wouldn't be fretting as much if we could travel in the daylight," the blue woman snapped, her voice sounding strange. But the worry in her voice was clear.

"If it's so damn urgent, why isn't Irene with you?" the man demanded, pulling a cigarette from his coat and lighting it.

"She couldn't. Irene isn't a young woman anymore, she hasn't been for a long time, William. Her health isn't what it used to be," the words were soft, as if they pained the blue woman.

"I haven't gone by William for over seventy years, Raven. You know that. Why did you bother to track me down?" He offered her a cigarette.

Ignoring the cigarette, Raven folded her arms, for the first time looking vulnerable. "I think she's dying, William. She's lost a lot of weight over the winter, and she didn't have it to spare."

"Dying? Renie can't be dying," he whispered.

Raven nodded.

"Bloody hell!" he roared, slamming his fist into the wall as his eyes changed to gold and his teeth became sharp fangs.

Tara gasped, the vision dissolving. Her head ached, and it felt like someone had been shouting right next to her. She didn't feel floaty anymore, more like light-headed and dizzy. That one had been exhausting, everything ached now.

"Okay, I won't try to look for you again, Raven Mystique," Tara whispered.

She decided to just sit on the edge of the bed for a little while and try to regain her balance. That vision had left her feeling entirely out of sorts, and it was a good thing that she could just sit still for a while and finish packing later. Going to Xavier's would be good for her. They would teach her, and nobody would think there was something wrong with her for being able to get the visions or for being a witch.

Even better, Charlie was going too. Charlie was pretty, and confident, and there was something about her that just seemed, well, magnetic. It was the way her eyes sparkled, the way she held herself…

Tara sighed, a tiny smile on her face as she admitted, "I have a crush."

Going to the new school with Charlie, where they would really only have a sort of idea who each other were and Scott and Jean… Granted, it didn't spell out romance, but it did give an opportunity to try to get to know Charlie better. Maybe she and Charlie could get closer. Maybe she'd find out if Charlie was as fascinating to kiss as she was to watch. Or maybe Charlie liked boys, and Tara would be disappointed.

At least she'd have a chance to find out.

End part 73.

Forrest Gates picked up the coffee and walked to the small table of the café. His Initiative duties were always after dark, and his cover-responsibilities as a teacher's assistant were done for now. The essays were graded, assignments and scores posted, and no lectures until tomorrow. He'd taken the chance to head out of Sunnydale for the afternoon.

Officially and to give a few verifiable facts to his reasons for leaving town, he'd gone to pick up a new set of shoes, some new parts for his car that weren't carried in Sunnydale, and to pick up some stuff from a natural food co-op. The one in Sunnydale had been closed for the past three weeks after the 'mystifying death' of the owner – he'd been found one morning, his throat torn out and most of the blood gone.

Nobody could blame a guy for stopping to get some coffee before heading back to the nightmare that was called Sunnydale. The fact that his coffee was at a little cyber-café was purely a coincidence. At least, that was what he'd tell anyone who asked.

It didn't take very long to log onto one of the computers. Even less time to create a new email account that he'd be able to remember but also held no connection to his name. The account only needed to last long enough to send one important email. God willing, it would get through and not be deleted or ignored. Before he'd been sent to Sunnydale, there had been a big scandal about a commander overstepping the bound of their orders, and it had prompted a series of lectures and papers for everyone. The idea had been that soldiers would have an appropriate channel to report incidents or suspicions of incidents, and that the leaders would know better, because they would be aware that they were being monitored.

Forrest sent the email, and offered up a prayer to whatever power might be listening up there.

Subject: Overstepped Boundaries

Sirs,

I am a soldier stationed at the Sunnydale Army Base, assigned to the Initiative Project. The leader of the scientific side of this project at the Sunnydale base is Dr. Maggie Walsh.

It is my fear that Dr. Walsh has overstepped the boundaries of her orders. In the last five months, the parameters of our operations have changed, becoming more aggressive and leading to more permanent actions against the targets. The directions of research carried out under her orders has also shifted, and the current average is a six day survival period after capture before the subjects expire during testing.

This does not match the previous protocols for the Initiative project.

Sincerely, A concerned soldier

He didn't dare use his own name. For similar reasons, he didn't want to use his own computer, or any of the ones at the base or university. He knew that emails could be traced, and that if you could figure out who sent one – or from where it was sent, then you could normally find the sender. Using his own name or computer would be painting a big target on his back. He didn't want to feel like this, but…

But Dr. Walsh had been doing and ordering horrible things. Vile, evil things. Things that couldn't have been authorized. And if they weren't authorized, then it would be best for her if nobody ever found out.

Which meant she couldn't learn that he'd reported his suspicions.

Let them track the email – it was a brand new free email on yahoo. There were thousands, millions of them. The name had no connection to his own, or to his appearance or location.

Let them track the computer. It was a publicly accessible terminal in a busy café. Hundreds of people used it in a week, and the only cameras that he'd seen were at the cash register and the door. It couldn't be traced to him.

He hoped this worked.

End part 74.


	29. parts 75 to 77

Joyce closed the door of her office, and looked at Ira and Sheila. "Did that girl send you the information?"

"Sheila's checking now," Ira commented, sitting beside his wife on the couch. "Things are so much faster with computers."

"Yes, but don't you also need to be sure that the information's accurate? That someone didn't just make it up to cause trouble?" Joyce leaned against the door, and rubbed at her temple. "Of course, I hope that whoever was responsible for searching my house gets trouble by the heap."

"Of course it needs checked. But what I'm going to do is send it to quite a few people so that they can each check one aspect, and if something happens to me or my computer, the information will still be out there," Sheila replied.

"That sounds paranoid," Joyce observed.

"It isn't news to you that there are terrible people out there that do terrible things. People who are willing to kill and worse for whatever their sick and twisted reasons are," Sheila spoke slowly, her words bitter. "Why be surprised that they'd kill to keep their secrets? We knew people who have died because they knew too much, or they saw the wrong thing."

Joyce gasped, wanting to offer some sort of comfort. But how could you comfort someone for that? Words wouldn't bring back the dead.

"With a bit of luck, nobody will know that we have any sensitive information," Ira soothed.

"Well, whatever she sent, there's certainly a lot of it," Sheila murmured. "Apparently, she managed to get her hands on some records belonging to what she describes as 'a secret military-funded group operating in Sunnydale,' and while I haven't gone through all of it, the look is right for military records and research."

"Do I want to know why you recognize the style of military research?" Joyce asked.

"I told you, we've had experience getting information out to the public. Some of it came from corporations, and some from the military. You'd be appalled at some of the things that we've found," Sheila replied.

"How long does it take for your people to verify things?" Joyce asked Ira. "If things are as bad as it sounds, we want to bring a stop to it as fast as possible, before more people are killed. On the other hand, if it's some sort of hoax…"

"Not more than a week to verify that the data came from where it's supposed to. Other people will be checking the scientific aspects against what's currently known. That's about as fast as we can go if we want to be sure it's real," Ira answered.

Joyce nodded, fingers tapping at her keyboard as she updated the records for her gallery. She couldn't do anything about what was going on in Sunnydale, and she couldn't do anything about the men who'd broke into her house, but she could run her art gallery. And she could think about Vic, and what they could do on their next date.

Elsewhere, an older man settled in front of his computer, grumbling about technology. Granted, it was important to try to keep certain standards of behavior in any organization, and timely communication was vital, but still… He longed for the days when all he needed was a stack of paper, some pens, and his address book to keep track of everything.

He began to sort through the hundreds of emails in his account. Inevitably, there were large numbers of meaningless trash: advertisements for pornography, medications of all sorts, discounted everything, dating services, and three emails begging for his assistance with transferring funds from embattled African nations. There were still dozens of emails that actually concerned him and connected to the purpose of his office. The computer was a not-so-anonymous means for soldiers to report any suspected or obvious deviations from appropriate behavior.

Sometimes that resulted in people sending emails about their superior's personal lives, which he didn't need to know. What a man did with other consenting adults in his own bedroom… He didn't care.

Sometimes there were people who disciplined a bit too heavily, either from their own troubled pasts or from an abundance of enthusiasm. Sometimes, ambiguous orders got interpreted in ways that could cause diplomatic problems. Both of those situations would be reported here, and he could redirect them to the right channels.

Lifting his coffee, he looked at the next email on the list. The sender was using an account from a public, free email service, and obviously not using their actual name for the account. Possibly a sports fan thinking about their favorite team, not that it mattered. The subject was simple and seemed to fit with his department – 'overstepped boundaries'. He didn't know if he wanted to hope for more spam-mail or for a report from some soldier out there concerned about their superior's behavior.

Sighing, he opened the email.

The name 'Sunnydale' leapt out at him. He'd been warned to watch carefully for the slightest sign of problems from that project, as well as a handful of others. He didn't know exactly what these projects were doing, though he had a few guesses, but he'd been to Sunnydale once when he was younger. Once had been more than enough. He had more nightmares from that summer than the whole time he'd been stationed in Viet Nam.

"Fuck. Who's damn idea was it to set up any sort of special project in that God-forsaken town? What the hell would they be capturing anyhow?" He hissed.

Then, his mind dragged up some of those images, the ones he saw far too often in his nightmares. Hell might have quite a large role in whatever was being captured in that place. He had the feeling that if things there had gone wrong, it was 'wrong' in the same way as Three Mile Island went wrong, not 'wrong' as in the clerk got the wrong coffee or the printer ran out of ink.

This needed immediate attention, and there were only a few people that he'd trust to do things right. Not 'right' by some politician's standards, or 'right' according to a book written by someone who'd never been there, but 'right' for the whole world's safety.

He picked up the phone and made another call to someone that he'd hoped he'd be able to forget.

End part 75.

Scott Summers rubbed at his temples, trying to force back the headache that he was developing. This had sounded so simple at first, when the professor had sent them to California. 'There is a small town in California, and there are three strong mutant signatures in the area. Go find them, and offer them the chance to come here. The fresh air and sunshine will be a pleasant change. Have fun.' True, there was fresh air and sunshine. He'd found his cousin Buffy and aunt Joyce, and had a chance to catch up on them. Neither of them cared that he was a mutant, and Buffy's friends didn't seem worried either.

But there were vampires and demons. A secret government sponsored organization capturing demons, vampires, and probably mutants and then doing terrible things to them. Most disturbingly, his aunt Joyce had decided to start dating Sabertooth.

"That shouldn't be more disturbing than soldiers capturing and experimenting on demons," Jean commented from the other end of the table.

"I know. And with the number of old books Mr. Giles has, demons and vampires aren't a new thing, so I should be more disturbed by that…" Scott looked again at one of the books, currently open to show some hulking thing with curled horns and muscles that made a linebacker look puny.

"Your aunt is allowed to date anyone she wants, and if he goes over the line, they will do something about it. Your family here aren't passive people," Jean interrupted. "As for the soldiers, I have to wonder what else they've experimented with."

"I doubt it was anything good," Scott grumbled.

Suddenly, Scott sat up, "I know that you said Aunt Joyce was in her art gallery, and that she'd missed the people with the dark vans, but… what were they doing in her house? Was anything stolen? And if not, then what were they doing? Who breaks into a house and doesn't steal anything or attack someone?"

"She didn't mention anything being stolen," Jean mused. "I don't know if she reported it to the police or not. But that is a very good – and disturbing – point. Just what were those people doing in her house?"

"Maybe we can convince her to let us search the house before we leave, just in case they were adding instead of taking things away," Scott let his finger trace the fresh burn mark on the table. "The whole thing just feels… wrong."

"Maybe we should ask if Sabertooth would help search for anything they may have left? He does have enhanced senses like Logan," Jean offered. "And it will sound like you're being more accepting of your aunt's dating choice."

"That does make sense," Scott felt pained by the admission. Logically, it was sound. Enhanced senses could help, and he did want his aunt to be safe. "But I don't intend to like him."

Thankfully, Jean didn't point out how stubborn that last sentence sounded. Scott knew that it was stubborn, and maybe a bit foolish to refuse to believe that Sabertooth could change, but… That was the way he felt. He didn't like Sabertooth, he didn't trust him, and he was not pleased that he was dating aunt Joyce. But he wasn't about to let that dislike stand in the way of trying to keep Joyce and Buffy safe in their own house.

"I'll call Joyce at her gallery and see if she can give us his number. She did say that he had a cell phone, and I'd much rather call that than try to reach his mind," Jean must have been following his thoughts. "If we go over this afternoon, we can still be on the plane and leaving tonight, hopefully before sunset."

"This place creeps you out too, doesn't it?" Scott looked at her. Part of him felt better knowing that it wasn't only him. Another part thought that it was probably the Hellmouth thing that Buffy and Mr. Giles had mentioned. "I'll see if the girls are ready, Justin has been since yesterday."

"How long could it take for Charlie to get ready? She didn't even seem to have anything to pack," Jean asked. "We'll definitely need to get her some new clothing once we get her home."

"I don't know, but I've learned not to assume when it comes to women," Scott managed a small grin.

Jean just shook her head before using the shop's phone to call aunt Joyce's gallery.

Deciding that Jean would be occupied for a while, Scott decided to call Tara first.

End part 76.

The man in the gray suit frowned at his agents, many now showing bruises and scrapes. "You've been turning the town upside down for the last two days. You haven't brought me McGee. Nobody was in the Summers' house, and we haven't received any useful information from our bugs. Tell me that you've accomplished something in the last twenty four hours."

"There was an explosion during the high school graduation this spring, resulting in the death of the mayor and most of his senior staff. The police here are a disorganized mess, and we believe that the Chief was firmly under the thumb of the late mayor. There will be no organized resistance to anything we do here," Agent Townsend reported. "If we remain out sight, it's unlikely that anything would be done through official channels at all."

"No luck on figuring out what the hell kind of dog that was that bit me, but the wound seems to be healing without any infection," another agent offered, his shoulder bandaged. "Of course, the down side is that I have to get all those shots to make sure I don't catch rabies."

"We've noticed a great deal of activity after dark," the agent that spoke was very bland, with his expensive watch the most memorable thing about him. "There were several groups of men in camouflage with expensive weaponry, including several non-commercial tazers. Leo and Juan are trying to figure out where their base is so that we can take a closer look. They might be useful in tracking down and capturing McGee. There also seems to be some gang activity, though it doesn't seem to involve drugs, guns or prostitution."

"This could be useful," the man in gray mused. "I want to know more about the gangs – if they aren't running the usual, what are they doing? Who do they listen to? Where do they get their funding if not from the sale of illegal goods? Those groups in camouflage, I want to know who they take orders from, who funds them, and what they were looking for. Without disappearing like the idiots who were supposed to have taken McGee last week. And if anyone can tell me how two trained agents get lost in a cemetery, I'd be very interested."

The agents nodded, and one of them stepped forward holding several papers. "Sir, our information suggests that there may be another gifted individual in the area. We found some reports of a 'scary floating man' that had been filed a few weeks ago. There was a good deal of confusion, as he was spotted during a town-wide outbreak of viral laryngitis? Couldn't we use someone who could levitate?"

"Floating?" The man considered that, and a thin smile emerged. "Yes, someone who could do that would be most useful. If you can find this floating man, bring him to me. I still want a higher priority on McGee. The testing started on her a few years ago suggested that she could do… amazing things. She manifested some telekinetic abilities as well as her fire-starting. She is too useful to let go. One of the scientists was hopeful that her powers would increase with age, so remember that she is to be considered armed and dangerous at all times."

"Someone usually has to train for years to get a status like that," whispered one of the agents.

"Certain abilities can more than make up for a lack of martial arts training or conventional weapons. Consider the girl a walking bomb, if you will. It is our duty to make sure that we control the bomb, not someone else." The man tapped his desk and sighed. "Now go, and I want better results."

Forrest Gates scratched through some numbers, rubbing at his temple. He'd been out chasing vampires half the night, and now he was stuck grading papers. Whoever had thought up the idea that they should be collage students and teaching assistants should be shot. He didn't have enough time for this. A 'reasonable' load of classes and assistant time. Six hour patrols every other night, unless he was wounded or sent to deal with paperwork instead. Several hours of paperwork and several more hours of training and errands. And he still needed to find time for meals and sleep.

Whoever Parker Abrams was, he was terrible at math. These pitiful efforts at the quiz were making Forrest's head hurt. The headache didn't help the muscles that were sore from last night's patrol. It didn't help that he hadn't managed more than coffee and a couple links of sausage for breakfast. And all his questions, worries and doubts about the initiative didn't help anything.

"I hate this town."

He wondered what Mr. Giles had been planning when he'd convinced Riley to hand over the contact information. Maybe it was safer not to know, but… the man didn't seem like the sort to just ignore things. He'd probably research, plan things out, double check the plans, and then move… But if he'd planned things right, would they even know he'd done anything? Had he done anything, or was the man still checking and rechecking plans?

No. His instincts were that the big mess of demons in the abandoned factory had been a set-up. That sort of thing couldn't have been coincidence, could it? Even if it had been a random gathering of hostiles, someone had called them in. If they could arrange it, that would have been a perfect diversion. He wondered what it could have been a diversion for, considering that the base had been the same as usual, there had been nothing that might have been a bomb had been placed. So, what had they done, and how?

Shaking his head, Forrest turned back to grading the quizzes in front of him. He didn't have enough information to know what Mr. Giles and his people had done. Creative numbers, but wrong… Good work here…

The realization slipped into his mind like a shadow. He didn't have enough information to guess about Mr. Giles and his people. But he did know that the redhead was supposed to be good with computers. And they had wanted to know what the Initiative was up to, and to be able to do something about it. Good with computers, a diversion to empty the base, a need for information – if they had pulled it off, that would have been the perfect time to get information. All they would have had to do would be get inside the base, download, and get out without being seen. And there had been something about one of the smaller doors not being properly secured, though they'd just assumed someone had been too tired after a patrol to finish the locking procedures.

All he could do now was hope that they could make sense out of whatever they'd managed to down-load and that they could do something useful with it. Enough that he didn't feel like he'd wound up serving the next generation of Nazi researchers anymore. Enough that he could think about what he was ordered to do and still look at himself in the mirror without wincing.

Sunnydale wasn't a good town for hopes.

End part 77.


	30. parts 78 to 80

"I understand why you're leaving. Part of it, at least, so I won't ask if you'll stay," Willow spoke softly as she helped Tara carry her things to the car. "What I will ask is if you'll write. Or you could call or email just as easily. I think… well, you were the only other person at that Wicca group who wasn't after girl power, herbs to see funny things and the occasional male-bashing. I'd like to try to learn a little more about how magic works when there isn't an emergency or demon."

"I learned from Mama and Gran. Most people either have a family tradition or they find a teacher," Tara stammered. "And teachers for that are normally a lot more experienced than I am."

"You're more experienced than me. Giles is too, but he's too busy with the Watchery research and training Buffy," Willow sighed. "I've seen some things in a few of the books that make me worry. Magic's not just a weapon, and if that's all I know how to do, all I can learn with the books here. How to find things and how to hurt them. Just a little on barriers. I think it could get scary."

Tara nodded, considering what Willow had said. Mr. Giles had a truly frightening amount of information on monsters, and on prophecies and history. But there wasn't much on magic, and most of it was geared for fighting. While using magic as a tool or weapon wasn't always bad, using it for nothing else… Scary was right. And Willow had more raw power than most of the other witches Tara had met. If she couldn't keep her power balanced, Willow could become as dangerous as some of what she helped fight. "I'll keep in touch. You should still try to find another teacher, someone who can be here to guide you, but… Magic isn't just about fighting. It's life, and beautiful things, and enjoying what we have. You need to enjoy life and do helpful things, or else… well, the Dark side isn't just for the moon and Star Wars."

"I'd worry about trusting someone experienced who was living here with the Hellmouth and all. They might be okay, but more than likely they're dangerous and maybe out to cause trouble. Like Catherine Madison. Or Ethan Rayne. Or the Mayor…" Willow babbled.

"Who? Wasn't Ethan the guy who turned Giles into a demon?" Tara tried to remember the assorted Hellmouth stories as she placed the basket of clothing into the car. Part of her wondered if she really wanted to know while another part decided that Willow was right to be cautious about anyone here.

"Catherine was Amy's mom," Willow shook her head. "And she was scary. You know how some people want to relive their younger years through their kids? She took it to another level."

"Did you name your rat after Amy?" Tara could almost remember that story. Something about a cheerleader going blind and Buffy collapsing at school.

"No, the rat is Amy. It was something she did to escape Hansel and Gretel… and that's really not a story we have time for. Catherine stole Amy's body, which was really high on the freaky events scale," Willow shivered.

Tara just nodded, thinking to herself that life would be so much simpler and safer away from here. No more vampires. No more demons. No more evil coincidences. And her family wouldn't have any idea where to look for her. "I can hardly wait to go."

"Be careful," Willow demanded. "I know that Scott's school isn't over a hellmouth, but there are vampires and demons elsewhere, just not as many of them. Don't just ignore everything and figure everything will ignore you back."

Tara froze at those words. She hadn't even considered that there were monsters in other places, even though she really should have known that. Feeling very cold, she stammered "o-of course I'll be careful."

They were both quiet as they drove to the meadow with the black plane. The quiet remained as they loaded Tara's things, broken only by quiet comments about the weather and the pair working together to float some of the heavier items.

"Hello girls."

Scott's voice made them both jump. He had someone else with him, a young man about their age with shaggy dark hair and a big duffel bag. Tara recognized him as the other mutant they had been looking for. She managed a weak smile and waved her fingers, "hey."

"I'm Justin," the young man offered his hand. "Don't worry, I don't bite, and I never want to come back to this place."

"Tara," she touched his hand, feeling her cheeks burn and her stomach flutter. Nobody would let him hurt her or order her around like Donnie and her father had done. She didn't have to be afraid of all the men in the world. Telling herself those things didn't really help.

Tara waved goodbye to Willow, and settled to work on a few more sketches of some things that she'd Seen. Maybe they'd be useful to Willow and Buffy. Even if they weren't, it was better than standing and being nervous about Justin. Or waiting for Charlie…

Mark shook his head as he examined the door. It had been disguised to appear nothing more than part of a wall, and there was a rather impressive electronic security system. It was far ahead of anything that should have been on a college campus, and far ahead of what anyone with an income under several million a year would consider on their property. It was an obvious sign that things were being hidden. Interesting things.

It would take him a bit of time to bypass everything and slip inside, but he was sure it would be worth the effort. The most likely people responsible were the camouflaged hunters with their advanced weaponry, which meant he wanted to be absolutely certain he wasn't detected. Those weapons could do very unpleasant things to him if they were so inclined.

It wasn't as if they'd be willing to tell him what they were doing and under who's orders. And things like that weren't just posted on the internet. He'd have to learn for himself. Maybe he could pick up a few of their toys while he was inside, a stun weapon could be useful for hunting McGee.

End part 78.

Scott Summers would pay for this, Jean vowed. While she had agreed that it would be useful to have Sabertooth help make sure no surprises had been left at Joyce's house, she'd expected them to all work on it. That is, herself, Joyce, Sabertooth and Scott.

Not for Scott to go pick up one of the new students and leave her to get in touch with Sabertooth and go start searching the house.

Trying to calm herself, she dialed the number Joyce had given, hoping that he would answer his cell phone. She still thought the idea of Sabertooth with a cell phone seemed a bit incongruous, but there wasn't any particular reason he couldn't have one.

:Who is it?: the growled words could only belong to Sabertooth.

"Jean Grey. Something happened the night we got the information. Joyce's house was broken into," Jean paused to try to consider how to say the next part.

:Who did it, and what did they take?: the words weren't any harder to understand, but they somehow seemed to be even more of a growl and more threatening.

"As near as we can tell, they didn't take anything. Joyce got out before it happened, she said there were several dark vans."

:Damned Black Ops groups,: he snarled. :We should ask what they left and who they're working for. Those people don't break in out of boredom. Not a whole crew.:

Jean decided not to ask how he knew that. There were some things she didn't want to know. "We thought that maybe you could help us try to find and remove anything they may have left in her house."

:Where are you calling from?:

The sudden demand made Jean blink. "I… I'm at the house of Mr. Giles, one of Buffy's teachers. Before you ask, I'm calling on my cell phone, which wasn't in the house at the time of the break in, and we didn't discuss contacting you at her house."

:If she doesn't know, tell her we're searching it, she can be there or not as she likes. Some of them like to leave nasty surprises; others are searching more for information. I don't think she has any enemies, so they probably aren't after her directly, but being a secondary target is even worse.: There was a pause and the sound of a few growls. :I'll be at her house in fifteen.:

"All right," Jean replied, but she heard only the empty line. He'd already disconnected. Decisive, logical Sabertooth… She shivered. He was easier to deal with when he was no more than Magneto's pet beast.

Juan Cantu glanced around, unimpressed by Sunnydale. It was a small town, unimpressive in almost every way. Other than the presence of McGee, the only thing noteworthy about this miserable little town was the almost obscene number of cemeteries. He'd consulted a map, and there were actually more cemeteries than apartment complexes. Absurd, but true.

Even more absurd was the fact that his superior had ordered him to investigate the alleged gang activities of this town. A town with no large scale trades in guns, drugs, or prostitution, and a notable lack of gang-tag graffiti on any of the public buildings. The only reasonable explanations were that either this town was being used as training by some forward thinking gang leader of a nearby city, or the 'gang activities' was a cover for something else, possibly a wider ranging smuggling that simply passed through the area and didn't distribute. Overseas immigrants, perhaps?

Another sad fact was the abandoned industrial section. Once, from the looks of things, the town had boasted a number of factories, a strong job market. Only the cannery nearest the docks showed any signs of continued use, the others dark and quiet.

Or perhaps not so quiet. There was music coming from a broken window in the nearest building, a local radio station. Nothing that should be in a building as empty and abandoned as this one appeared. Someone was inside, someone who didn't want official notice.

This might get interesting, Juan decided. He moved towards the door, his mind already trying to sort out how to turn things to his advantage.

A pity that none of his plans and ideas included men with yellow eyes and sharp fangs. None of them were intimidated by his shout that 'I'm a government agent!' or the following 'You can't do this!' His gunshots, while accurate, didn't slow them down in the least.

Juan Cantu screamed as fangs pierced his skin, and struggled futilely as his blood was drained. He only held a faintest puzzlement as he heard a voice say, "You think he really is an agent? One of those could be useful."

Across the country, an aging man who would far rather be a soldier than a bureaucrat glared at the folder in front of him. Chewing on the cigar that he wasn't supposed to have in the base, he tapped the letters on the folder with a calloused finger. 'The Sunnydale Initiative.' A sticky note on the front had his secretary's scrawl 'Nick, this is some nasty shit. Give us a plan.'

"These things were simpler during the War," he growled. "Locate the problem, and bomb the whole area until there was nothing bigger than a rat."

Opening the folder, the first page held information on the town of Sunnydale. Details of when it was founded, the population, the large numbers of professionals who preferred the low property costs to the convenience of the larger cities where they worked. Pamphlets for the two local colleges and the private schools.

"So far, this reads like the tourism committee sent it," he turned to the next page.

The next page was last year's death rates, complete with a categorized listing of causes of death. Wild animal attacks. Neck ruptures. Car accidents. Diseases. Quite a few that were simply listed as 'homicide.' There were very few that could be considered natural causes, like heart attacks, strokes, or old age. Frowning, he flipped the first page over, comparing the death figures for the population. The death figures would have fit a far larger city, population wise, except for two things. Wild animal attacks simply didn't happen on that scale, not even in remote African villages with lions, snakes and crocodiles. And what in the hell was a 'neck rupture' anyhow?

Continuing with the file, he learned that other military minds had found the official listings equally unusual, and it had been decided to 'send an investigation to the area and determine the causes of the unusual deaths and the large numbers of disappearances.' Another sticky note commented that they had been unable to get a precise figure for disappearances, but estimated nearly a hundred people vanished every year from the own. That investigative team, sent in the late eighties, had brought back a report that shocked and appalled many people. Demons and vampires.

"Oh hell! Tell me they weren't that stupid," the man pulled out a lighter. A cloud of pungent smoke filled the office as he continued the report.

They had been that stupid.

A secret base had been established underneath one of the local colleges. A few hundred people had been moved in, soldiers and scientists, with orders to capture and study some of the 'Hostile Sub-Terrestrials', later referred to as HST's. The copy of the original orders seemed straightforward enough, and there were statements that the operatives were not to draw any official notice to themselves at any time.

"Damn fools," the cigar moved to the other side of his mouth. "Capture and study?"

Things had gone mostly within the mission parameters until the past spring. In Sunnydale, the death of Mayor Wilkins, the Chief of police, and most of the town council during a high school graduation ceremony – and if the explanation he saw was the truth, he'd start eating his cigars instead of smoking them – had destabilized the town administration and routine. Unfortunately, the previous commander of the Sunnydale installation had been one of the casualties, there to see his nephew get a diploma.

A single page had been inserted with the full text and technical information of the email that had been sent reporting this mess. The message had been traced to a heavily used computer in a popular coffee shop that had as many people in for the computer access as the caffeine. It would be very difficult to get an image of the person who had sent it, and that particular detail was of little importance at this time. The probable soldier's email concerned what had happened after that spring.

There had been the expected change of command. Unfortunately, the new base commander didn't hold the charisma or the balls to keep power where it should be, and from the reports, the power had ended up in the hands of the head of research, one Dr. Margaret Walsh. The capture rates had gone up. The experiments had changed. It should have seemed like a good thing that the soldiers stationed there were filing fewer injury reports.

Nick smelled a rat. Something was wrong with that picture, even knowing that he didn't have all the pieces.

"We need to go to Sunnydale. This has turned into a damn mess, and someone needs to fix it. Before that, we need to know just how bad things have got."

Picking up the phone, he barked the orders that would set things into motion. They would find out just what was going on over there, stomp the demons – better call them HST's. Walsh would get her ass handed to her, and anyone else screwing things up would go with her for the trip. Someone else could figure out how to explain it for the paperwork.

End part 79.

Mark watched as the trio of soldiers stalked past his current hiding place. They didn't move quite right for soldiers, and not right for assassins either. He'd seen too many soldiers not to know how they moved, and he'd been an assassin for a decade, under several different leaders and governments, and several dozen names. Their movements were wrong. They were definitely dangerous, and the only word that came to mind for their actions was 'hunting', but they were still wrong. He didn't want them to find him.

It was thirty minutes of quiet skulking and investigation before he found a weapons locker. Less than a minute later, he had two ordinary handguns, a small tazer, and one of their larger electrical weapons, as well as a few knives. He relaxed just a little, feeling properly armed in case disaster struck, despite the fact that walking around in a secured facility with their own weapons would not help him in the least if he were stupid, clumsy or unlucky enough to be caught.

Another room had several electronics towers, and a box of papers to be shredded. Mark grinned, and grabbed a stack of pages nearly two inches thick, tucking them into his pack to smuggle back out. He didn't know what they held, but anything that was supposed to be shredded might be useful. With two inches – or several hundred pages – worth of paper, there had to be something interesting.

A little more exploration was called for before he made his way out of this place. He'd start with the rooms down that hallway…

Vic could feel his lips pull back from his teeth as he stood on Joyce's front step. He could smell those Black Ops bastards all over the house. Oh, they were long gone, but their scents remained, as well as whatever little toys they'd stashed. They'd been here, crawling all through her house, pawing over her things, digging through her papers, and her jewelry, and her underwear…

He couldn't remember all the details, but he'd been one of those Black Ops bastards once, a lifetime ago. He didn't know who he'd worked for, or what name he'd answered to, but he could remember a few fragments. Searching an office. Strangling a frightened man in a suit in a little alley one night. Planting wires in a house. Setting up surveillance at a hotel with a woman with dark hair. He knew what hey could do.

Joyce didn't deserve that sort of thing.

"You're growling," Red's voice was soft. "Nobody's inside; and Joyce said that she trusted us to handle things here."

He nodded, and followed her through the door. The place looked good, with nice furniture, and a shelf of books and little things to dust around. A closet held shoes and jackets. There was nothing visible to suggest that anything had happened… Almost nothing. There was a patch of naked plaster in the corner, a dusting of wood shavings beside the window, and a smudge of carbon by the light switch.

Focusing on those details, he tried to push them towards Red, figuring that she was supposed to be a mind reader, she should get it. "Look for things like that. Everybody leaves traces behind."

Rubbing at her forehead, she nodded. "So the better ones are the ones who leave fewer traces?"

"Yes," Vic answered, tapping at the plaster. He listened as the sound changed, and wondered just how much the small object behind the wall could do. Probably listening, maybe a camera, but did they still need wires to transmit? Probably not, what with the internet and satellites and cell phones.

He let his claws out, and carefully twisted them, slicing the wall and removing the little camera. It bore little resemblance to his patchy memories, instead looking a lot closer to his cell phone. "Pretty fancy. I bet they left some more of these in her house."

For a moment, Red just stared at the camera, her jaw dropped and eyes wide open. With a small sigh, she visibly pulled herself together, and nodded. "Right. We'd best make sure that we find them all. And we need to check the bedrooms and the bathroom as well. If they're willing to break into the house and put cameras all over, I wouldn't expect them to have the decency not to spy on them in the shower."

"The shower's a tricky one, the moisture's bad for the electronics," Vic wasn't certain when he'd learned that, or even if it was still true, but the words slipped out.

For a few moments, things were located and removed in near silence. Vic broke the quiet with a growled, "When I find them, I'm going to make sure they become very close to these cameras. Or else I'll just make their insides become their outsides."

Red shivered as they kept searching.

Mark stared at the table, words failing him. He'd expected more files and electronics. Maybe some of those weapons opened up and in pieces. But not this. Nothing like this.

Not some patchwork corpse that looked like something from a bad movie. Not something with skin in twelve different shades, including green and grey, stitched together. Not something with talons on one hand. Not something with electronics built into its body.

Deciding that he'd seen enough, Mark began to back away. He tripped, pulling an electrical cord from the wall, and landed on the tile floor.

Swearing in three languages, Mark picked himself up, brushing at his clothing, making certain all the weapons were still where they were supposed to be. He retreated, not caring what he'd tripped over. He didn't care what effect unplugging whatever that cord would have.

And he didn't care that he left the door to room 314 unlocked behind him. Had he seen the eyes of the patchwork monstrosity open, things might have been different.

End part 80.


	31. parts 81 to 83

"So, what are you doing now?" Charlie asked the blond, watching as Buffy tucked an assortment of weapons into her clothing.

"The short version? Patrol," the blonde commented, sliding what could only be a wooden stake up one sleeve.

"Like that not very quiet walk with your cousin?" Charlie ran her hands through her hair, and considered the town. That guy, Oz, had changed into something else, something hairy and growling with really big teeth, and they'd called him a werewolf. Tara and Willow had cast a magic spell. And there had been those things in the cemetery when she'd first got into this town. "Maybe you'd better give me the crash course on what's going on here, beyond that your cousin works at a school for mutants, and that Oz is a werewolf? I know you were hunting vampires, I know Mr. Giles has books on all sorts of scary things, but I don't understand why."

Buffy turned, and for a moment she looked shocked. "You mean… oh! No wonder you haven't been wigging out completely."

"I've seen plenty of weird things here, but an explanation would be nice," Charlie insisted.

"Right. This town's built over a Hellmouth, which is every bit as nasty as it sounds. Multi-mouthed beast portal to hell kind of thing. And for some reason, lots of demons and bad guys think it would be great to open this portal. And it draws vampires and demons like cheap hotels draw cockroaches," Buffy shuddered. "I go fight them, and kill the demons and vampires."

"Sounds like something from a horror movie," Charlie commented.

"And spooky guys in bland cars doesn't sound like a spy movie?" Buffy countered.

"Yeah, well… they want to get ahold of me, figure out why I can do what I do, and control or kill me," Charlie shrugged. "Nothing new there."

"For vampires, wooden stake through the heart, decapitation, fire and sunlight, not that it's easy for most of us to carry either one around," Buffy snickered, "And let me say that some of the vampires are really dumb. Crosses and holy water burn them too."

"Very horror movie," Charlie decided. "But I still don't get why you're doing this. Why you and your friends, instead of the police, or Mr. Giles' friends, or… well, anybody else."

"Because destiny sucks," Buffy retorted. "Why all the questions?"

"Because I want to know. I lost a couple of the guys who were tailing me to some weird things in a cemetery that looked wrong. Their heads weren't shaped right, and their arms were too long. I'd like to know what to watch out for so I don't get eaten instead of captured," Charlie insisted.

"I guess that makes sense," Buffy paused, and then asked, "Did you want to go with?"

"Sure. Moving target and educational field trip all in one," Charlie sighed, and picked up her worn denim jacket. "Lead the way."

"You might want a weapon," Buffy held out a stake. "Even if you don't, carry it and I might use it before we're done. I can explain a bit more as we go."

Charlie inspected the stake for a few moments before tucking it into her pocket. It felt awkward and kept poking her in the ribs, but she didn't say anything. "Fire, hmm? The ones earlier seemed to burn pretty easy."

Buffy led the way towards the nearest cemetery, chatting about the various local landmarks, and how to keep straight which cemetery was where. Personally, Charlie thought that a town this size shouldn't even have more than one or maybe two cemeteries, but nobody had asked her opinion. Buffy also talked about some of the places that were big demon hide outs, and signs that a place was in demonic use.

"Look boys, fresh meat!" The voice sounded a little distorted, and distinctly nasty. "I bet we can have some fun with these two."

"Alright, the basics of vampires, since I didn't give you the commentary last time." Buffy gestured, "See the nasty pointy teeth? The yellow eyes, the bumpy foreheads? Those say, vampire. And eeww, that one's still got grave dirt on him, can you say newbie?"

Charlie nodded, part of her mind horrified, and another part thinking that Buffy was much more observant than her image suggested. "So very nice of them to cluster like that."

"That's the bad guy group of intimidation," Buffy countered. "Look, there's ten of them, like a killer wedge."

"Not for long," Charlie whispered, drawing on the fire inside. It bubbled, eager to be let out, seeking something to burn. She focused her mind on the vampires, and only the vampires. The fire sang, and she let it go.

Blue white flames snarled into being halfway to the first vampire, expanding to engulf him, flowing past and surrounding his friends with orange and golden fire for a few heartbeats. Flames and ashes danced in the air, whirling and seeking something else to burn. Charlie fought to hold the fires back.

"Okay, maybe they weren't so intimidating," Buffy murmured. "That was… I thought you burning the one the other night was impressive, maybe a fluke. But this was just… wow."

"Burning things is easy," Charlie whispered, forcing the flames back down. She could still feel them inside her, whispering and begging to burn. "The hard part is not burning everything else."

"It would make clean up so much easier," Buffy sighed. "Let's go, I'm sure there's more nasties out there."

Charlie sighed, thinking of her own life. Granted, the nasties that she faced weren't demons and vampires, but still… "There are always more of the bad guys."

End part 81.

Sheila Rosenberg frowned as she read the email from her friend. The large files of information that she'd sent on was being analyzed. All of the formats and codings were matching up to be military in origin, and the structure of the reports matched military funded researchers. The most disturbing parts were the subject matter. There were apparently several ongoing projects and studies, and they'd got information on all of them.

One was some sort of electronic control chip that was supposedly being implanted in the soldiers – just in case the men had enough of a conscience not to blindly follow the bloodthirsty orders of heartless commanding officers. They'd verified that the implantation was of sound theory, the locations would work, and that the science of the chip looked plausible. It was enough to send chills down quite a few spines.

The second project was some sort of biochemical enhancement, along the same idea as steroids and vitamins, but they hadn't been able to identify some of the compounds yet. And the names of them… it almost sounded as if they were using hormones and powders from as yet unknown creatures. Apart from the species conservation aspect, giving someone an unknown organic substance could have dangerous effects on their health. And what about allergic reactions?

Neither of those were as bad as the vivisection reports. Creatures had been captured, most of which sounded like humanoid mutants, and they'd been subjected to an appalling battery of tests. There had been some to test intelligence and motor function, but most had gone straight into a slow, torturous demise from being opened up and having things poked, prodded, and substances poured into their bodies. It went beyond inhumane and straight into blood-curdling. There were thirty different files of those 'test sequences', some of which had been done on people, individuals who had talked and begged for their lives.

Sheila'd always known that there were scum out there. But this had just been too much. Her hands were shaking as she typed in her reply – 'This is horrible. Send it out, expose the bastards.' This was America, and things like this just weren't supposed to happen here.

Riley Finn stepped out of the elevator and into chaos. People were scurrying around the Initiative labs, babbling about security breaches, missing or damaged equipment, and disrupted experiments. It was enough to make him wish he was out on a sweep instead, fighting for his life against one of those grey things with giant sucker mouths. They'd reminded him very much of a lamprey fish.

"Can someone explain what the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

"Sir!" the scientist couldn't have been much older than he was, and she was clutching a clipboard to her chest as if her life depended on it. "Umm, how much do you know?"

"I stepped into confusion, and somebody mentioned a security breech. That's it," Riley shook his head. "Maybe one of the briefing rooms would be better?"

"Of course, sir," the young scientist led the way to a smaller briefing room, and perched on the edge of a chair. "Where to start…"

"I know I've seen you around here, but why don't you start with who you are and which department you're with?" Riley hoped that starting with something simple would help the poor woman calm down.

"Alright. I'm Pamela Jones, and I work with Dr. Lykos. We run the psychological testing on the Hostiles, and he's also one of the Initiative therapists if someone runs into a problem relating to classified material," she began, the clipboard lowering as she spoke.

"He must be a busy man," Riley offered. "Was his department affected by the security breach?"

"Not directly. Several of the specialized weapons have vanished, the ones modified to capture the Hostiles?" she waited for Riley to nod before she continued. "Some of the experiments in the three hundred hallway have been disrupted, and whatever was going on in three fourteen seems to have been stolen."

"Stolen? Along with some of the tazers?" Riley frowned, "Was three fourteen one of the weapons researcher's rooms?"

"Biological, sir. I don't know what it was, but I know it was Dr. Walsh's experiment, and she's not happy," Pamela took one hand off the clipboard to rub at her temple. "The biggest problem is that some of the classified papers to be destroyed may have been stolen. We have no way to be certain, because the security tapes have been tampered with, and we don't know how much paper should be in the shredded box. The current idea is to assume that there has been a leak until proven otherwise."

"Damn," Riley whispered. "If this… do we have any idea who, or why?"

"I don't," she sighed. "The biological research could be used for bio-warfare. The weapons… well that's obvious. There were papers about the psychological issues and evaluations of several of the base personnel. Financial matters."

"So no matter who it was or what they got, it's bad," Riley summarized. "And they definitely have some of our weapons, and maybe some sort of biological experiment. Possibly classified documents of some sort as well."

"Thus the panic and confusion. I'm just glad that I'm not in the security department," Pamela agreed.

Riley felt the urge to beat his head against the table, but resisted. The possibility of Mr. Giles getting information was much, much less troubling than this. "I just hope that those tapes can be fixed. We need to know who was responsible and what they took. It's not like the experiment would have been able to get up and walk out on its own, right?"

Pamela's smile seemed a little weak. "I'd hope not, sir."

End part 82.

"I found quite a few things in the soldiers' base," Mark spoke to the man in the grey suit. "I don't know what all of it means yet, but I do know they will be interesting."

"Tell me more," his boss demanded.

"First, they had some non-standard and very advanced weaponry," he removed the larger stun weapon, placing it on the desk. "A highly modified tazer. From the looks of it, the voltage is adjustable from something that should deliver a mild shock to well beyond lethal."

"Are you sure this isn't a prototype?" the man picked it up, inspecting it carefully.

"There was an entire rack of them sir, and they show signs of use in the field," Mark countered. "Something like this would be useful in capturing someone."

"Someone like McGee," glee filled the man's voice.

"I also lifted some papers from their shred pile," Mark removed the two inch stack of papers. "I haven't gone through them yet to know what I've got, but there should be something interesting."

"I'll have the analysts get to work on it," the man was smiling now. "Anything else?"

"They appeared to be experimenting with cybernetic alterations," Mark shivered, unable to find words for the rest of the patchwork horror that he'd seen in the lab. "I have no idea how successful the work has been, or what sort of glitches they may have encountered."

"Cybernetics?" The man paused, and murmured, "There have been rumors about control chips for mutants…"

Sheila Rosenberg was a woman with connections. Not potent political connections, but connections to several environmental groups, rights activists, and the alternative media. She had ways of getting information out. The Sunnydale Initiative Files would be released in multiple places across the nation within days, and should hit Europe within a few weeks. This sort of barbaric research violated multiple laws and treaties, as well as common morals and ethics.

She couldn't stand things like that being done. The government was supposed to be for the people, not experimenting on their own soldiers and torturing mutants to death. She couldn't imagine how anybody could believe things like that were for 'the good of the American people.' Weren't those unsuspecting soldiers and mutants as much a part of the American people as college students, lawyers, and bankers?

It would be several hours after the information was being released that it dawned on her that all of this had been going on right under her nose. She lived in Sunnydale, at least, her house was in Sunnydale. How many years had these things been going on? How many years had her own daughter been in danger from those chip-controlled soldiers? Willow wouldn't be able to deal with problems like that, she was… She was a sweet girl, but not very comfortable with the real world. They'd sheltered her a bit too much. And that Bunny girl couldn't be counted on to help with anything other than getting into trouble. Hadn't she said something about dating a musician last year?

Sheila groaned, "On top of all this, I need to sort out Willow's teenage rebellion before she ruins her life and makes me a grandmother. I'm not old enough to be a grandmother, and she certainly isn't ready for motherhood."

Really, it appalled her that she'd managed to raise a daughter with such a problem with the real world. Willow still had problems talking to boys. She didn't have a job, and probably had no idea how to manage money or external responsibilities. "Maybe a puppy would have been better than the fish. At least a puppy would have taught her some responsibility."

Come to think of it, the last time she'd been in Willow's room, the fish tank had become a terrarium. How had the girl managed to kill off her fish?

Maybe she should spend a bit of quality bonding time with her daughter.

End 83.


	32. parts 84 to 86

"So, being the Slayer means that not only are you set to fight the demons and vampires, they all really want to kill you?" Charlie asked, considering Buffy's explanation.

"Pretty much," Buffy agreed, kicking at an empty bottle. "I didn't want this destiny, and I tried to give it up, when mom and I first moved here. Complete failure. I'm stuck being the Slayer until I'm dead."

"At least you have your friends to help you," Charlie shook her head, "and no government agencies out to use you as their weapon. They don't play nice. They killed both of my parents trying to capture us, at different points. At least the vampires don't seem to be trying to go through your mom to get you."

"I guess you have a point," Buffy looked stunned and a little sick. "This was… our government? They aren't… I mean, that's just wrong!"

"Wrong doesn't keep things from happening," Charlie said, remembering the tests, the way they'd drugged her and her father, the way her Daddy'd been shot when they'd tried to escape. The way Rainbird had tried to kill her rather than let her go. "And yes, they were American. These are the next batch, not the same ones that had me when I was seven."

"It just…" Buffy stopped, one and gesturing for quiet.

Charlie followed Buffy to a clump of tall bushes, and peered through the branches. A group of what had to be demons were there, listening to some weird patchwork thing that looked like it had been sewn together from several different people and demons and a few metal bits for good measure. It was wearing camouflage pants and combat boots, just like a soldier would wear.

"Speaking of wrong," Charlie breathed.

"Definitely wrong," Buffy agreed, her voice a harsh whisper.

One of the demons pointed at the shrub, snarling something that reminded Charlie of Russian. Within a few rapid heartbeats, the whole group was charging toward the bush, snarling and growling.

"They seem to have noticed us," Buffy pointed out, drawing a knife from her jacket sleeve.

It wasn't long before the demons were there, swinging at them with claws and fists, snapping with sharp teeth. It was obvious to Charlie that they weren't aiming to take them alive either. She wasn't certain if she was more angry or more terrified, but either way it was weakening her hold over the fire.

The first one to go was a brown demon that had sharp teeth that stretched from one triangular ear to the other, and cold dark eyes that reminded her of Rainbird. With a sizzle, he was engulfed in yellow white flames that roared twenty feet into the air.

Buffy was trading blows and slashing with her knife, twisting and dodging between a green lizardy demon and a grey thing with very long arms and wicked talons on too many fingers. The demons were both showing signs of injury, and Buffy only had a few slashes over her jacket.

The next was the one that had pointed them out, and it screamed and bubbled, melting under the flames. Droplets of burning flesh hit the ground, sending inch high spirals of fire outwards as it thrashed and howled.

The duck pond was steaming and bubbling.

"I've been through too much to die tonight," Charlie hissed.

"Your abilities do not match anything in my database," the patchwork monstrosity spoke with a flat voice. "You must be eliminated or utilized."

Charlie screamed, rage overwhelming the fear. "Never again!"

The patchwork thing exploded in flames. Balls of blue-white fire hurled towards the other demons that Buffy wasn't fighting, reducing them to burning skeletons for a few moments before even the bones crumbled. Palm trees burst into flames, lighting up the park. At the same time, the duck pond turned into a cloud of steam. One of the fireballs hit a nearby car, causing an explosion that hurled bits of metal all over the area.

None of the metal hit Charlie or Buffy.

Lines of fire raced across the grass, and the picnic tables went up with puffs of bitter smoke and red glowing metal bars.

"Charlie! Snap out of it!" Buffy grabbed her arm and shook, hard enough to rattle her teeth.

For a moment, Charlie glared at Buffy, part of her wanting to burn the person who had dared to grab her… But she wouldn't let the fire rule her like that. She wouldn't loose herself in the flames. The whole town might burn if she let her control slip this time. The fireballs fizzled out, though the palm trees and the grass kept burning.

"No more," Charlie whispered. "I won't be taken again. I won't be someone's weapon."

"That's fine, but I don't want to burn up in the park!" Buffy grabbed her arm again and started running, dragging her along. "You said people were looking for you, I think they might notice something like the park bursting into flames like that."

"Oh no…" Charlie gasped, realizing that Buffy was right. They'd notice something like that; everyone would notice something like that. And the agents would know what had caused it. They'd be looking for her. "At least the patchwork soldier's done for."

"Yeah, I'd say that's done for," Buffy agreed.

"And we need to leave," Charlie agreed, no longer needing Buffy to pull her along. She was all too eager to leave the scene of the… well, not precisely crime, but she wanted to leave the scene. Before the agents could get to the burning park. Before anyone could get there.

"Back to the Magic Box," Buffy insisted.

Charlie had no arguments. She just hoped that the school Scott and Jean had mentioned would be able to help her get better control. She couldn't afford to have more accidents like this one. As they ran, she could hear sirens in the night. Hopefully, someone had called the fire department.

End part 84.

Willow handed Tara the green book, making the blond witch smile. "I just want you to be careful. It'll be a whole new start, and that can be sort of scary."

Tara smiled at her friend, "I know. But I think I need this. A new start, where nobody from home will know where I am. Somewhere I won't have to hide who and what I am. Maybe a place where I won't have to wonder how a park can burn down overnight."

"And you keep looking at Charlie when you talk about going away," Willow shook her head, and leaned closer before whispering, "Are you even her type? I can sort of see the appeal, but she's not really the sort that I'd go for."

"I have no idea what her type is," Tara sighed, her mind dancing with several interesting ideas of how she'd like to find out. Interesting ideas that she wouldn't ever dare to use. "But I want to find out."

"Okay," Willow nodded, and gave Tara a quick hug. "Good luck, don't forget to write, be careful for the monsters, and I hope things workout. If not with Charlie, then I hope you find someone."

"Thanks, Willow." Tara smiled at her friend, and made a small test of her friend's acceptance. "You know, if not for the fact that you're dating Oz, maybe you and I could have been something. You're pretty, and smart, and he's lucky to have you."

Willow blinked, her lips parting in a silent 'ohhh' for several moments before she murmured, "I guess there was more of me in her than Buffy thought."

"What?" Tara blinked, having no idea at all what the redhead's comment had to do with her own gentle flirtation.

"Another long and sort of scary Sunnydale Hellmouth story. You probably don't want to know," Willow smiled.

"Like Amy the rat," Tara shivered. "You have strange and scary things that happen around you. It makes me feel better about leaving."

"A school for mutants doesn't sound that normal," Willow countered, still smiling. "I'm happy with Oz, but I think you're a sweet girl. It would have been something, but I don't know if we would have been. Neither one of us seem like the type to make the first move."

"A good point," Tara had to laugh at that. "But I can see Charlie making the first move in a relationship."

"Yeah," Willow agreed. "But she does seem pretty spooked from her past. She might be a bit shy about the emotional part of it."

"Too much listening in your psychology class," Tara teased.

Willow shrugged, "Just be careful. I don't have a lot of friends, you know."

"I know," Tara smiled back. "Keep an eye on Buffy? Especially if things do fall apart with her and that TA she was dating. She needs all the help she can get, being a Slayer."

"I know. I've been trying to help her for a couple years now," Willow smiled, her eyes shimmering. "Go on before we all start crying. Have fun, study hard, and watch out for demons and vampires."

Tara climbed into the black plane, feeling far more nervous than she wanted to admit. She'd only been on a plane once before in her life. Combine that with the fact that she was leaving a place that had started to feel almost like a home… She would Miss a few things about Sunnydale, but not the danger. Not the feeling of constantly being watched, of being afraid that her family would find her. That her chances would be snatched away from her before she could really have a life of her own.

Going to Xavier's School for the Gifted was another chance. A fresh start, in a place where her family couldn't find her. She would seize this chance, and enjoy life as much as possible.

That determination prompted her to take the seat beside Charlie, and to offer a smile to the more confident girl. Maybe she wasn't quite ready to find out if she was Charlie's type, but if she was lucky, she could at least be the other girl's friend. Charlie looked like she'd had a rough night anyhow.

"Joyce? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Joyce smiled as she heard Vic's voice in the midst of her gallery. He was here, wanting to talk to her… Hopefully it would be good news, or at least not some variation of 'it's been fun, but all things must end.' Moving towards him, she gave a small wave.

He followed her back to her office, and she motioned for him to follow her inside. "Good morning. What have you been up to lately?"

"I went to your house with your nephew and his girlfriend," Vic growled a little at the memories.

"Why?" Joyce tried to imagine what could have prompted that trio. She was certain that Scott disliked Victor, and Jean didn't seem very fond of him either. "I know the three of you don't exactly get along."

"The men in the dark vans were Black Ops agents. They put cameras and microphones in your house," the growl was back, and his fingers flexed, revealing sharp claws. "We had to remove their little surprises. No idea if they took pictures, they probably did. I don't know what they were looking for, but they hadn't found it yet."

"Microphones and cameras in my house?" Joyce felt very cold, and the world seemed to tilt around her. "Why? I run an art gallery, for God's sake. I'm a single parent of an indifferent student."

Vic's arms wrapped around her, and he rubbed one hand over her back, "Shhhh. I don't now why, and if they come back, I'll make them very, very sorry. As for not getting along with your nephew, you're more important. I like you, Joyce."

"I… I'm so glad to hear that," Joyce sniffled, trying to regain a semblance of composure. "I was afraid you were here to tell me things had been interesting, but you weren't sticking around."

Vic growled something that she didn't quite catch, and shook his head. "I like you, and I'm not going away until I decide to leave. Nothing's been quite that bad yet, and I'd ask you to go with me."

"You would?" Joyce asked, her mind reeling.

Vic nodded, grinning at her, "Why don't we go somewhere for lunch?"

"I'd like that very much," Joyce smiled.

End part 85.

"A park burned down last night. An entire park burned to ash and a crater with some fish bones, and none of you could get there in time to get the girl? Not even to get a glimpse of her? Why are any of you considered good enough to get out of basic training?" the man in the grey suit demanded, his nostrils flaring.

"I've been mapping the movement of the soldiers and recording their transmission, sir," Protested one of the agents. "They call themselves the Initiative, and the soldiers are the footwork of the project. They go out and capture what are referred to as HST's, which is an abbreviation for Hostile Sub-Terrestrial."

"And what in God's name is a Hostile Sub-Terrestrial?" the man snapped.

"We're still working on that, Sir," another agent muttered. "But there are a disproportionate number of cemeteries in this town."

"And a disproportionately large obituary and disappearances section in the local newspaper," added another agent. "Most of the deaths are quite unusual. Wild animal attacks, exsanguinations after falling on a barbeque fork, venomous snakes and spiders finding their way into houses… This town has something very abnormal going on."

"I've been sorting through the papers that Agent Mark brought back," one of the blander looking agents spoke up. "Some of them are portions of the results of medical experimentation on live test subjects. The subjects are generally humanoid, but with assorted interesting differences. Some of them seem to be armored, with scales or leathery skin. Most of them have claws or sharp teeth, and two were venomous."

"Snakes and spiders, huh?" muttered the man who'd been looking through the obituaries. "Training exercises, more like."

"Sir?" spoke a quiet agent in the back. "This morning, there was an unexpected aircraft sighted. The descriptions vary in the minor details, but it is agreed that it was a black plane with angled wings, and that it wasn't taking off from the airport. It left heading north."

"Your point?" the man in grey glared.

"Sunnydale Municipal airport's radar footage for the time in question is blank, meaning that the plane had very effective radar counter measures. Doesn't that suggest some sort of military involvement? Another agency, or perhaps… the witnesses said north, does Canada have a similar program for collecting individuals with special abilities?"

The man in grey began to swear. His words were creative, vicious, and spanned at least seven languages. After several minutes that left a few of the braver or perhaps more foolish agents taking notes, he glared at all of them. As he pointed, one agent flinched, "You! Continue to gather information on this Initiative. I want to know where they're finding these HST's and what they're doing with them. You, the mortality rate and how they're keeping it quiet. You and you, Canadian agencies and projects. Start with Department H; they were responsible for that sort of thing twenty years ago. And you! Figure out where the hell Cantu is, and why he hasn't reported back."

With a scattered muttering of "sir' and 'Yes sir' and 'right on that's, the agents dispersed from the room. If there had been an observer, they would have noticed the fear that some of the agents seemed to hold for their boss. All of them were glad that they weren't named Juan Cantu.

Meanwhile, another military grade aircraft was flying into Sunnydale. Rather than belonging to a group of mutants operating on the edge of the law, this one was operated by the United States Army, laden with a group charged with investigating the Sunnydale Initiative Project. They were armed not only with standard issue weapons and carry permits, but with specific orders to investigate everything, especially anything that they felt was being concealed. There had been reports of abnormal individuals, tentatively identified as mutants, being kidnapped and used in experiments. There were reports of medical experimentation on the soldiers and unauthorized drugs. Rumors from other sources about various forms of mind control.

They were also much more afraid of the man who had sent them to get to the bottom of things than they were of either Colonel Vanderhoff, the man who was supposed to be in charge of the Initiative, or Dr. Walsh, the head of research who may have unofficially taken over the project. No matter what was going on and how ugly the truth was, they were determined to find out.

Including just why the decision had been made to hide their facility underneath a college.

End part 86.


	33. parts 87 and 88

Charlie McGee leaned against the window of the black plane, watching the clouds. Part of her still wondered why she had trusted Scott and Jean, why she was willing to go with them to their place, to their school. It could be a trap. A very elaborate, impractical, absurd trap. It wouldn't be the first time that something had sounded too good to be true. But she was tired of running and hiding. Tired of the deception and lies. Just tired.

"So, does this school cover normal things too, like math and reading and history? Or just mutant abilities?" She looked over at Scott, who had stayed back with them while jean flew the plane.

"And several foreign languages," Scott smiled at them. "We have students of various ages, some older than you are, and I think our youngest is six."

"Six? Isn't that a bit young for a school away from everyone else?" Justin asked, his hands clenched on the back of his Sunnydale Razorbacks letter-jacket.

"He's got red scales and claws," Scott sighed, and tapped his fingers against his knee. "His parents sent him to us, because they didn't think they could hide him from the neighbors anymore, and they were afraid that someone would kill him for being a mutie freak. There's a lot of anti-mutant prejudice in some parts of the country."

"I don't know where I'd test for my education," Charlie admitted. "I haven't exactly been attending school regularly for the past twelve years…"

"Why not?" Justin asked.

"I've been too busy running," she glanced at him, frowning. "You had a decent family, and nobody particularly cared one way or another what they did. My mom was telekinetic, and my dad could change peoples' minds, talk fat ladies into being thin. Scary people found out, and they wanted them. Instead, they killed them. Not at the same time, but my parents are still dead. I didn't see what happened to Mom, but I remember hearing the gunshots. I saw Dad get shot, right before…" Charlie bit her lip, remembering how she'd destroyed the compound, having the most destructive temper tantrum in the history of the world. Things were hazy for a while after that, and she sometimes wondered if she'd damaged herself, or if she'd almost lost herself to the fires.

"I had bigger worries than learning geometry," Charlie finished.

"I'm sorry," Tara whispered, her hand hovering near Charlie's. "But things will be better now. You won't be alone."

"Did you look into the future for that one?" Charlie couldn't keep all the bitterness from her voice. "Because that sort of thing hasn't gone too well for me in the past."

"You won't be alone. Justin won't ever have to go back to Sunnydale. I never have to see my brother or father again," Tara's voice held an intensity that Charlie hadn't expected from the shy girl. "We're starting over."

"Sounds pretty good," Justin mused, his hands relaxing enough at only his knuckles remained white, the rest of his fingers regaining their proper pinkish tone. "Maybe I'll be able to find a girl who enjoys talking about engines, horsepower, and speed."

Scott tried not to smirk, "Who knows. You might wake up one day to realize that you're head over heels for someone that you swore was the last person you'd be interested in."

For a moment, Charlie just looked at Scott Summers, blinking at the absurdity of what he'd just said. "That sounds like a bad soap opera."

"I think I'm probably safe on that part. The only people that I swore I'd never get together with…" Justin snickered, and then the amusement faded. "Now you've reminded me. I won't be in that situation because everyone that I ever said I wouldn't date if they were the last person on earth has wound up dead. Sunnydale dead."

"I don't know who, I just know what I don't want. Nobody like my father," Tara mused.

"New start, remember? With all of us learning control," Justin smiled, "I can hardly wait, maybe someone will figure out something useful about my abilities."

Tara frowned, and glanced out the window, "If I'm not planning to ever go back there again, then it couldn't have been me sitting in that room. I couldn't have had the scales; it must have been her looking like me. But why would she bother? I'm nobody special…"

"Maybe you would just draw less suspicion than she would," Charlie offered. "Whoever she is. After all, you're pretty, but there's nothing about your appearance to make people start asking uncomfortable questions."

"That's a whole other type of identity theft," Tara mused, her arms wrapping around her stomach. "Creepy."

"If there's a problem, you won't have to deal with it alone," Scott insisted. "You're part of our family now. We won't abandon you to fight your problems alone. Even if they involve Mystique. Maybe especially if they involve Mystique."

End part 87.

Buffy watched as the plane took off, looking like a toy before becoming no more than a little speck. "I hope it doesn't take as long to hear from Scott again. Six years is a long time."

"I know, especially in Sunnydale," Willow agreed. "They'll be safer out of Sunnydale. And maybe we can sort out a few of the things."

"Right. Isn't that a bit too ambitious, even for us?" Buffy looked at her friend, wondering what Willow was thinking.

"No, if Vic and your mom keep getting along, even if they don't keep dating, that could be one less person that your cousin and his associates have to worry about. We're already working on the guys kidnapping mutants, and that nasty chip idea is getting out. It won't just get ignored away as a Sunnydale thing," Willow was still watching where the black plane had vanished. "I want one of those… Anyhow, the longer the guys after Charlie stay here, the fewer of them are likely to have the chance to leave. And Tara deserves a chance to be safe and happy. Charlie too."

"I guess someone should," Buffy murmured. She couldn't help wondering if she would have a chance with riley, or if something horrible would happen to destroy yet another relationship. Pike had left her after he'd decided her life was too weird and scary. Angel had gone evil. Billy had tried to feed her to a vampire. Scott Hope had… well, that had failed. Parker had been a jerk. She could only imagine what might happen with Riley.

"Stop brooding," Willow turned to face Buffy, and frowned. "There's no call for you to frown and pout like that. Why don't we go get some coffee and we can try to do some normal things for a while? Just hang out and try to relax a bit."

"That sounds like a plan," Buffy agreed. Tucking her hands in her jacket, Buffy headed back towards the parking area, grateful that her mom had let her borrow the car. "There's this little place near the college that Riley showed me, we could stop there."

"Instead of the Espresso Pump? I guess that would work," Willow nodded. "Do they have the little wafers to nibble on with your coffee?"

"Only one way to find out," Buffy smiled before whispering, "Maybe Riley can join us? I could use some time with my boyfriend, while I've still…. I mean, Carpe Diem, right?"

"Exactly," Willow agreed. "Enjoy today while we can."

Neither one added the second part of Buffy's philosophy – 'because tomorrow, you might be dead.' This was Sunnydale, and they both felt that they'd tempted fate enough already.

Sheila Rosenberg sighed as she closed her laptop. The dreadful information that had been sent to her by RedRose99 had been dispersed to be properly investigated. It existed in multiple places now, and she knew that her associates were paranoid enough to make backups and blind copies. She didn't have the proof yet, but her gut feeling was that this DMR Initiative was real, and up to something nasty.

"You can't do anything else until the information's been checked out," Ira commented from across the room.

Frowning, Sheila considered his statement. "About the information, no. But maybe I could drop in and have a few words with our daughter. RedRose99 is socially aware and active, and Willow's still… She couldn't even keep a tank full of fish alive, Ira. That girl is long overdue for a talk about responsibility and paying attention to the world beyond herself and her friends."

"So you'll be heading towards the campus and trying to catch her for some mother daughter bonding," Ira focused on his laptop for a few moments before printing a single page. "Her class schedule. She doesn't have anything today until a three o'clock Psychology class."

"Thank you, dear," Sheila took the paper, and glanced over it before placing the sheet in her pocket. "She's not taking anything challenging at all this quarter. I know she can do better than that."

Ira just returned to his laptop as Sheila left the office, muttering, "Honestly, children these days. She's not making use of her time, not showing responsibility, and dating a musician. I'm too young to be a grandmother."

End part 88.


	34. parts 89 and 90

Riley Finn walked out of Lowell House, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He listened to Forrest ramble on about the upcoming football game, nodding at various points and cracking a smile when Forrest mentioned one of the cheerleaders that he was hoping to get a chance to talk to later. He hoped that if anybody happened to be observing them, that everything would look normal.

"Riley, what gives? You need some more coffee?" Forrest elbowed his arm, frowning at him. "I just told you that the linebackers had vanished and you said 'that's nice'. It isn't nice, Finn."

"Sorry Forrest," Riley shrugged, and decided that they were probably far enough that nobody would be observing them. "Part of its Buffy. We haven't exactly been fighting, but…"

"Secrets?" Forrest murmured, glancing back at the house.

"And the answers to some of them," Riley agreed. "That and some of what's been going on lately."

"I'm tempted to just tell you to forget about her and get on with your life," Forrest shook his head, and sighed. "But I can tell you wouldn't go for that."

"Right," Riley agreed. He didn't know what sort of future he could have with Buffy, with the Slayer, but he didn't want to just give up and walk away.

"Granted I'm in maths and not psychology like you, but I think the one you need to talk about all this with is her, not me. If you can't talk with her, then there's no future with her. And the sooner you figure out if you will or won't be staying involved and in what way if the answer's yes, the sooner you'll stop giving yourself headaches about Buffy." Forrest sighed, and pulled out a small plastic bottle from his pocket. Shaking out two pills, he grumbled "I don't know what the hell I did to my shoulder, but it's killing me."

Riley smiled, "Thanks. I do need to talk to Buffy about all of this."

There was a good distance between them before Forrest yelled after him, "Riley! If things go sour, life goes on. Things aren't doomed if it doesn't work out with this girl."

That made him laugh, and he gave a small wave, half talking to himself, "How much of that is because you don't like her to begin with, Forrest? How many times have you said she was trouble? That I should find a girl who doesn't fluster as easily, one who doesn't make as many excuses for thing going crazy, for that matter, someone who doesn't have things going crazy around her all the time."

He headed towards the main buildings, deciding to stop for coffee. He might go drop in on Buffy's dorm afterwards. "Life without Buffy might be less crazy, but it would also be less fun."

Before long, Riley was pushing open the door to the little coffee shop. Papers advertising local bands, poetry readings, guest lecturers in various topics, a missing dog, babysitting, used textbooks for sale, and a motorcycle for sale festooned the bulletin board. He could smell the coffee in the air, and the scent alone helped him to feel more alert.

With a large Sumatran coffee in hand, Riley turned to find a seat. As he looked over the assorted chairs and the couple lumpy couches, he was sure that Buffy and her friend Willow were sitting over there in the corner. Maybe he could have a chance to talk to Buffy sooner rather than later.

Walking closer, he could see that they both had half emptied cups of coffee, and the girls were definitely Buffy and Willow. "Hello ladies."

"Riley," Buffy smiled at him. "Sit with us, we won't bite."

He settled into an empty chair, feeling nervous. Maybe this one talk wouldn't make or break their continued relationship, but… he just had a feeling about today.

End part 89.

Sheila Rosenberg decided to stop for a cup of coffee before trying to visit her wayward daughter at the dorm room. She'd hoped that living on her own would help Willow to mature and become more responsible. Glancing once more at the schedule in her hand, she sighed. No challenging classes, not a demanding schedule… Willow was definitely taking the easy path.

Red hair gleamed in a corner. A red haired girl and a blond girl, facing a taller blond man. Sheila moved closer, hearing the blonde girl, who seemed vaguely familiar, speak in what was obviously the continuation of an earlier thought, "So Willow and I thought we could drop in here for some mochas."

"Willow," Sheila tried to smile at her daughter. "I think we need to have a little talk about a few things. You can spend some more time with Bunny later."

Willow drank the last of her coffee, and shook her head at the other two. "Her name is Buffy. She's been my friend for the last three years; I'd think you could at least get her name right."

Sheila frowned at her daughter, gesturing for her to follow and started walking out of the coffee shop. Her daughter trailed along, looking everywhere but at her mother.

"What did you do to your hair?" Sheila glanced at the red locks, cut so that they were barely past her daughter's shoulders. "And why are you taking such an easy course load? I'm certain that you could do better than this."

"I cut my hair a week after I graduated. You were in Florida. That's where you were during my graduation, come to think of it," Willow glanced over and then looked away. "A responsible and attentive parent would have noticed my haircut sooner than three months."

"Willow!" Sheila couldn't sort out what possessed her daughter to speak to her that way. "I am your mother…"

"Biologically. You certainly haven't been very nurturing or supportive. You know nothing about what I've been doing. You can't get my friends' names right. It took your three months to figure out that I cut my hair. You pay more attention to the issues of stepchildren in San Diego than you do my life." Willow's voice was calm.

"You can't even keep a tank of fish alive, and you have the nerve to criticize my parenting?" Sheila snapped.

"Fish? What about…" Willow looked at her in confusion before her eyes widened. "You've only just noticed that the fish aren't there anymore?"

"Your father and I only gave you the fish because you promised that you would take care of them," Sheila started her prepared speech about responsibility and reliability, and how learning good habits now could help improve the rest of her life.

"My fish were killed by a stalker half way through my junior year. That was a few weeks before I ended up in the hospital with a concussion, three cracked ribs, and a broken collar bone. You were in Marseilles that time. The stalker has since been dealt with, by the way. During that time, I was teaching the computer classes at Sunnydale High, due to the fact that Miss Calender had been murdered. She was a mentor of mine. I think you and Dad were in Dallas during her funeral. I was valedictorian of my class, and had to give a speech at the graduation ceremony. That was right before the school blew up. I didn't have to go to the hospital after that, though we lost about sixteen of the graduating class, as well as a good number of parents and a few more teachers. I helped some of the emergency first aid after the explosion," Willow's voice was flat.

Sheila blinked, her mind trying to sort through what Willow had just said. "A teacher, murdered? The explosion… that was during your graduation ceremony?"

"Sunnydale High had a high faculty turnover rate. We found the chemistry teacher's head in one of the closets, wild dogs ate Principle Flutie, Miss Calender was murdered, Mr. Verde vanished with suspected foul play, the swim coach and school nurse both vanished," Willow paused to glance at her. "Did you realize that the school newspaper had an obituary section? And an in memory section in the yearbooks, for the students who died or vanished during the school year?"

Sheila blinked, part of her mind insisting that such dreadful circumstances were impossible, that someone would have noticed. "Wouldn't someone have noticed?"

"The chief of police was arrested in July for corruption and taking bribes after a state investigation. He may very well have been part of the cover-up. Principle Snyder was one of the casualties of Graduation day, so it's a bit hard to tell what he may have known. As for the rest, well…" Willow shrugged. "Xander's parents drink too much to pay attention. You aren't in the state enough. I've had to forge your signatures on school paperwork off and on since fourth grade, when you either weren't here or didn't remember to sign things."

"What do you mean you've been forging my signature?" Sheila could feel the outrage at that bland statement. "What did I supposedly sign for?"

"You've allegedly looked at my grade cards. Filled out the beginning of the year paperwork. Signed the insurance paperwork after assorted hospitalizations. Granted permission for me to teach after Miss Calender was killed. Permission for the annual Zoo field trip in high school. Authorized the narcotics after two of my hospitalizations," Willow gave a tight, empty smile before finishing with "Nothing that will impact your credit rating."

"Your course load?" Sheila felt shaken, partly by Willow's words and partly by that flat empty smile, the one that reminded her so much of the one she and her friends in college had presented to the untrusted faculty and the politicians. The one they presented to the enemy.

"All of them are necessary prerequisites. I've also got an independent study going in Latin," Willow tucked one hand in her pocket and gestured with the other. "Besides, I've been making sure that my friends are dealing with things. Buffy lost her boyfriend in the graduation, and she needs a bit of support. Xander's been trying to find a good job and moved into an apartment with his girlfriend. I also have a part time job at one of the stores down town."

"I recall you saying something abut a musician," Sheila tried to regain control of the conversation.

"His name is Oz, he plays guitar in a local band, and they've had paying jobs once or twice a month. Devon's trying to get them a contract." Willow's voice was calm, and she gave a dismissive gesture before adding, "I'm surprised you remembered that, since you repressed the rest of the night so you wouldn't have to feel embarrassed at what you did."

"What I did?" Sheila blinked as part of her mind wanting to know when her little girl who had been almost too shy to speak on her first day of kindergarten had learned to deflect questions. "You're sneaking around with some boy in a band, and you're trying to suggest that I've done something dreadful?"

"We haven't been sneaking, and he's not just some boy. We've been dating for almost two years. Before you ask, yes we've been sufficiently careful to avoid diseases or pregnancy, I know the symptoms to watch for, and no, he hasn't pressured me. Buffy' Mom and I have had a few rounds of mother-daughter talks since you were never available," Willow glanced at her, and then asked, "What do you remember about MOO?"

"What do cows have to do with anything?" Sheila blinked, though she had a feeling at the corner of her mind that she as forgetting something. Like grasping for a word that you could almost remember.

"It was an acronym, mom. Your acronym. Why don't you check your journals for mid January of ninety nine?" Willow's eyes had that flat, untrusting look again.

"You sound like you don't trust me, Willow. I'm your mother, for heaven's sake," Sheila snapped.

"You may be my mother, but you don't know me anymore. I'm not a statistic in a group, I'm not just an example of the typical just out of high school female college freshman group. I'm Willow." Her daughter sniffled, and shook her head before continuing, "I'm Willow, and you don't know me. You don't know my friends, you don't know my hobbies. You didn't know that I cut my hair a few months ago, you didn't know about my friends dying or vanishing. You have no idea what I do with my time."

"Willow, I…" Sheila didn't know what to say to her daughter. What made the words sting was the fact that she hadn't known when her daughter got her hair cut, she hadn't known her schedule, and she hadn't known a thing about her daughter teaching a class at the high school. The words about friends dying or vanishing gave her chills.

"Come back and talk when you're willing to know who I am, and not just planning to force me into some statistical group or babble at me about teen issues. When you're willing to listen to Willow." A short pause, and then a whisper, "When you'll listen to your daughter as much as you will someone who sends you an email on the computer."

Sheila had no idea what to say as her daughter walked away from her.

End part 90.


	35. parts 91 and 92

Doctor Maggie Walsh was furious. Not only had there been a security breach that may have involved Agent Finn, several pieces of equipment had been stolen, and her project had disappeared. ADAM-1 was missing, and she didn't know which of the possible explanations was the truth. She didn't know if he'd been stolen, like the equipment, or if he'd somehow become activated and left on his own. To add to her frustration, none of the other ADAM units were close to being functional. This would set back her timeframe for testing by at least several months.

Maybe Agent Finn could become part of her ADAM project. If he'd been involved in the security problem, it would only be a fitting punishment. She'd just have to make sure she put in some programming to compensate for his flaws. Hopefully the programming in her first unit would keep him from being of much use to whoever had him. And it should keep him from deviating much from the behavior parameters she'd given him…

"Dr. Walsh! We have a complication," a flustered technician leaned on her doorway, hair sticking in strange directions and a small ink blot forming at the bottom of the breast pocket of his lab jacket.

"Just take care of it and submit a report," she glared at him. Really, the help she had to work with these days…

He shook his head, "It isn't that simple. This is originally a military project, and they've decided to send an inspection team. They're already at Lowell House."

"What?!?" She blinked at him, astonishment and anger coursing through her body. How dare they come into her facility and try to keep her inside their limits and protocols. She would have to deal with this herself, just like everything else in this place. "Who is in charge of the inspection team?"

"I don't know. Nobody would tell me more than the fact that they've got some high ranking officers and they're armed. I think Gamma team's got them stalled, but it won't last," the tech fidgeted.

"Go and make certain that the labs are in order. I will deal with this investigative team myself," she glared and pointed towards the labs, smirking as the tech scurried away. She had invested too much time and effort in this project to permit a knot of interfering camouflage busy-bodies interrupt her now.

.mw...td..df...mw...td...tf...mw...td...tf.

Toby Danvers straightened his tie as he approached the office of the new Mayor. In his hand was a file containing copies of several complaints about loud noises and an explosion, a report from the fire department, and some preliminary damage estimates about the Alvarez Park. He was at a loss to explain how it could have happened. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the polished door, a tiny part of his mind noting that the door still had the plaque reading 'Mayor Richard Wilkins'.

"The door's always open," Mayor David Flutie called.

Toby entered the familiar office, noticing the polished wood paneling, the soft leather chairs, and the deep green carpet that no longer had a putting cup set up in the corner. A stack of files and papers were stacked on the left corner of the desk. "There was an incident at Alvarez Park last night, sir."

"What happened?" The man looked at him, one hand holding a pen while the other rested on the pages of a desk calendar.

"We only know a few details," Toby began, feeling defensive. "Last night at eleven, there were reports of shouting, and there was some sort of explosion at the park. The fire department haven't finished their investigation into what caused the explosion, but I can tell you that it was big."

Taking the file, Mayor Flutie flipped though the papers. "Reports of a disturbance, complaints of people shouting, cars damaged… Just how big was this fire?"

"The park was burned to the ground. All the tables and the trees are gone, the pond is evaporated. The walkways are cracked and presumed unsafe. We've got damage or destruction reports on seven cars, and there were several buildings near the park that caught fire. A couple people who were in those buildings were treated for smoke inhalation and minor injuries. There have been some pieces of metal found in buildings and trees, as well as scattered over a few of the bordering streets. The current thought is that those pieces were part of the initial explosion," Toby finished his explanation, wishing that they still had Mayor Wilkins around. Granted that he man had been obsessed with cleanliness, but he would have figured out who had caused the explosion and fires and they wouldn't have done it again.

Staring at one of the papers, Mayor Flutie sighed. "Maybe my brother had the right idea when he went into education. This is… words fail me. When the Police and the Fire Department finish their reports, I want copies. The last thing Sunnydale needs is anything like this happening again."

"I think we can all agree on that, sir," Toby agreed. "Sunnydale does seem to have enough problems as things stand."

"Did the Chief of Police have the budget proposal for next year ready? I know he was talking about getting more funding to update some equipment and hire a few new officers," Mayor Flutie closed the file. "Every day in this office seems to reveal a few new problems."

"He didn't say anything about the budget, sir. Do you think a larger police force would help?" Toby asked, considering some of the things that had happened to him living in this town. He still didn't know what had happened to his dog, but something had taken their boxer right out of the fenced back yard.

"Some of the problems, maybe. Others won't be solved so easily," Mayor Flutie sighed, and looked at the papers. "If that's everything, Toby?"

"Not quite. There were some people treated at the hospital recently for dog bites. They tested negative for rabies, but there was something else that the doctors found. Some sort of virus that they couldn't identify."

"Are the injured people showing any symptoms of anything?" Mayor Flutie looked quite alarmed. "Sunnydale does have an ongoing problem with wild dogs. I've already increased the Dog Warden's funding."

"No symptoms that I'm aware of, though it appears that they were all prescribed some basic antibiotics. They said they'll keep an eye out for anyone else showing the same virus," Toby replied. "They wouldn't give us any names though, something about privacy policies."

"I guess that's all we can do for now," Mayor Flutie sighed. "How did Wilkins make this look so easy?"

End part 91.

"So…" Buffy peeked at Riley through her eyelashes. "You wanted to hang out for a while?"

"That too, but I think we need to talk about things. You, me, us, the future. That sort of thing," Riley fiddled with his mug, and took a drink of the too-hot coffee. It burned, and he sputtered a little, catching sight of the way Buffy was biting at her lip. "I'm not trying to break up with you, Buffy. There's just so many questions."

"Let's start with some easy ones. Do you have anywhere you have to be for the next few hours?" Buffy reached over, her fingertips brushing the back of his hand.

"Not until three," Riley gave a small smile, his mouth tender from the coffee. "I thought maybe we could talk, maybe sit over by the arboretum where things are quiet."

"That could work. Some of the talk has to do with your paintball games?" Buffy smiled a little as she repeated the bad excuse that he'd given her.

Riley winced; it had been the best excuse that he could think of at the moment. That incident had prompted him to mention in his report that patrolling units should have explanations for their presence prepared before they were noticed. Or at least a few paint splatters on the camouflage if they were going to claim paintball. Fortunately, or maybe not so fortunately, some of the splatters had left stains that were not the human blood rust brown, and if he had to give the paintball story again, it might be a little more believable. "Some of it. And some has to do with after-college plans."

"Plans for after college… For three or four years from now?" Buffy's smile didn't look cheerful. "Not a luxury everybody has, Riley."

Riley blinked at her words, opening his mouth to demand an explanation. He managed to keep from blurting out something stupid, and took another sip of the coffee, trying to find a better way to put the question. Still unsatisfied, he attempted, "We can talk about why you make planning a few years ahead sound like a luxury."

He couldn't be certain if the coffee had dragged out a long time or sped by before they walked out, her hand curled in his as they walked towards the trees. Idle comments about the weather took up time as they slipped between knots of people, and they found a weathered wooden bench beneath a large tree.

He looked at her, reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "Buffy? Why wouldn't you be able to plan ahead a few years?"

"Because I'm the Slayer, remember?" Her words were soft, and her eyes sparkled in a way that suggested tears. "That is my future, and it probably won't be very long."

"Because of the demons and vampires?" Riley remembered some of his own injuries, and the deaths that he'd seen in Sunnydale. "I thought that was why being a Slayer made you stronger."

"Yeah," Buffy shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, one knee raising towards her body. "The thing is, it's a sucky Destiny. Most of the support that I have is against the whole traditional idea. There's some handbook that I've never read that probably explains it all. There's even this horrible test that the Council does if a Slayer makes it to eighteen after being Called…"

Riley's stomach sank when she said 'if' about reaching eighteen. Nobody should be saying 'if' about that, especially not when the alternative would be some messy and painful death. The more he heard about this Council, the less he liked, not that he'd heard very much about them. "Would I be right if I guessed that this test could be fatal?"

Buffy just nodded. "I don't think there's ever been a Slayer go to college before."

"If they don't have anything else besides fighting demons, they don't have any encouragement to live. Just a sense of duty," Riley began, thinking of the many things he'd learned in his military training, and the many psychology books that he'd read in preparation for his role as a psych TA. "People need some positive ties to the world, something to encourage them, a reason to keep living."

"Are you offering?" Buffy gave a weak smile, eyes still glimmering with tears. "What if you get sent away, or we drive each other crazy, or"

Riley reached out, his finger touching her lips, "Buffy, just because things could happen doesn't mean we shouldn't make plans. They can change. But if we have a plan, something to look forward to, we're more likely to pull through the problems we'll face. The stress of finals, the panic of what is that scaly thing and how do I keep it from taking a bite out of me. With plans, with things to look forward to and people we care about, we're more likely to survive and heal from something taking a bite, or catching us with a tree branch, or getting hit by a bus. I want to be there for you. I like the idea of maybe some day seeing you walk down an aisle in a long white dress."

"Was that a proposal?" Buffy blinked.

"More of an 'I want us to stick together and see if there should be a proposal.' I don't know if I'm ready to get married. I don't know if you'd even want to marry me. But I like you, I like your company, and I want us both to be able to stand here in three years and talk about what we want to be doing in the fall."

Buffy's smile seemed to brighten the day, and she hugged him. It was the first hug that Riley had ever faced that made him feel like he couldn't breathe. Buffy wasn't the sort of girl he'd dreamed about when he was fifteen… well, she seemed like it, but the whole fighting demons and kicking down fire doors thing was a bit different. She was a bit peculiar.

But life seemed a bit more fun since he'd started dating her.

End part 92.


	36. parts 93 and 94

Maggie Walsh hurried to her office, closing the door behind her. Part of her wanted to rant and scream in furious indignation about this inspection team – how dare they come and attempt to interfere with her experiments? She would not scream and rant, she would not carry on like an insane lunatic. She had everything saved to a secure backup, she would just… make sure that these inspectors found nothing when they finally made their way down to the base.

She began deleting files from the computer system. Erasing everything about the ADAM project would have to b her top priority. After that, perhaps the finer details of the vitamin supplements for her soldiers. If she still had the time, the third series of internal inspections and tolerance testing would have to go, some weak minded fools might harp on about violating some sort of natural rights possessed by those inhuman beasts. Or perhaps they would call it animal cruelty…

Maggie Walsh didn't realize that some of the files swept up in her frenzy of erasing the evidence included security protocols. Or that some of her deletions affected the programs containing the HST's in their cells. She ignored the small message box that cautioned 'Deleting this file will disengage cell electrification' and deleted a folder of ethically questionable security measures. She didn't need to waste her time explaining to a panel of ivory tower fools about the necessity of harsh measures to contain wild beasts.

In the containment cells, a variety of angry demons noticed that the electric hum of their cell doors fell silent. When one reached towards the glass barrier with sharp talons, nothing happened to him. He ran those talons down the glass, and as a sharp squeal echoed in the corridor, fangs were bared in what might be called a smile.

Glass panels and iron bars wouldn't hold them for much longer. Soon, they would be able to thank their captors for what had passed for hospitality…

On the other side of the base, Maggie Walsh kept deleting files. She would make sure that they couldn't find anything to use against her. All she needed was for Gamma squad to delay them long enough. Just long enough to erase everything.

She didn't think about the boxes of documents and reports awaiting the shredder. She didn't think about cabinets of hard copy. And it certainly didn't occur to her that some of the expired test subjects might not have been fully disposed of quite yet. Let alone the probable reactions of anyone finding the incomplete ADAM-2 and ADAM-3 units.

The basic facts made it impossible for Maggie Walsh to get rid of all the evidence fast enough to conceal what had been happening. There were too many cabinets and folders of reports. Too many papers waiting to be shredded. Too many computers with incriminating information. Too many HST's confined down a corridor of cells.

Too bad that Maggie Walsh had never been one for listening to others. Had she listened, she might not have pursued the chain of experiments. She might not have developed the ADAM project. She might not have started drugging her soldiers with a combination of vitamins, minerals and demonic hormones.

She might have had the chance to live to see forty.

In a corridor of cells, glass shattered and doors were forced open. Almost two dozen vampires and demons were now loose inside the base of the people who had captured them. The fire resistant door at the end of the hall no longer required a security code to open.

And the lab technicians and soldiers were too busy trying to get things in order to notice the lights indicating opened cells. Various doctors scurried about in their labs, making certain that inspecting officials wouldn't trip over their equipment, tidying up projects, and organizing records. Nor was Dr. Walsh the only one who felt the need to arrange the disappearance of a few files in their preparations.

Gamma Squad knew how to handle their weapons, and they were quite familiar with the Sunnydale area. As a point of pride, they had the lowest injury record and lest amount of time off due to injury of any of the capture squads. However, they had not been given orders to prevent higher ranking military officers from inspecting the Sunnydale Initiative Research Facilities. They had inspected identification, and asked a few questions to verify that the officers were highly placed officials, but there was a limit to how much time that could take. Likewise, a full inspection of Lowell House was accomplished swiftly, leaving only the descent into the secured and hidden areas.

Time was up for the Initiative.

End part 93.

Dr. Karl Lykos sighed as the portable drive finished copying the records of his evaluations. He wasn't the only person in charge of the soldiers' health, or even just in charge of their mental health, but he was one of three psychiatrists evaluating them on their initial reactions to learning what they would be capturing, the required monthly evaluations, and to offer an opinion and counseling if there were deaths or serious injuries. He had records for everyone with last names from Fe to Pa, though his recommendations weren't always followed.

Once again, he whispered the set of promises that helped him look into the mirror each day "Never enough that they'll notice, Never outside of their required sessions, and not enough to let Him out." It had been a minor miracle that nobody had suspected the link, and nobody had asked any questions. He had hoped, under Vanderhoff, that he could manage to find a measure of redemption for himself. But things had changed when Vanderhoff died, and he still wasn't quite certain how Maggie Walsh had clawed her way to the top of the hierarchy. But he knew that she couldn't ever find out.

Nobody could learn of his other-self. His dark half.

Karl Lykos deliberately didn't think about the various occasions when stress, accidents and disasters had reduced his control. When emotions had run so thick and so heavy that he hadn't been able to keep from drinking them, feeding on them. He'd found small ways to cope, tricks to keep thinks safe and manageable, even with the stress of their jobs, the danger of capturing the HST's.

That unpredictability was why he spent so much of his time going over the files in the controlled surroundings of the underground base. Away from nervous students and traffic problems, the chances of some sort of emotional overload causing problems was vastly reduced. He'd come close to losing control in the aftermath of that security breech a few days back, but he had fought down his other, managed not to slip and let Him out.

He would make certain that everything in his office was ready for inspection. His records would be in order. Evaluations and suggested courses of treatment would be ready, in his coded records so that he could discuss his patients without violating their privacy. His master code to identify them all was tucked away in one of the files, easily overlooked.

When his civilian contract expired in February, Karl didn't think he wanted to renew. Not under the leadership of Dr. Maggie Walsh. "I can manage for a few more months. It won't seem that long. And then maybe Los Angeles, or San Diego would be a good place to go."

Police Officer Paul Blaisdell stretched at his desk, glancing around the office. Chief Oakley had been taken away in July on a list of charges as long as his arm and they had a new Chief, sent over from San Francisco. It still looked like Chief Lucas Miller wanted to clean things up, to make the Sunnydale police into a group that tried to protect the people. They were actually trying to figure out what killed people instead of just calling them 'wild animal attacks' or 'neck ruptures.' He'd seen a few things while he'd been in Sunnydale, and his younger brother had told him a few more things. Some of the figures lurking in the shadows could be awfully strange, and sometimes the truth was far worse than any fiction.

Paul doubted that they'd be telling the Sunnydale people the truth about some of their cases. He still didn't know what that creature had been that had charged out of the magic shop, but it hadn't been an ape or a big dog. He'd been talking to Dustin, and the coroner had all sorts of things to say about 'odd bodies' that had been brought in to his office. Bodies that weren't human, bodies killed by medieval weaponry or ripped apart with teeth and claws. Chief Oakley had been right that the people wouldn't want to hear the truth.

But the officers deserved to know. He and everyone else out there in uniform deserved to know what to watch out for, what had really happened to their fallen. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he thought he'd need to know.If it explained why he thought he'd seen Morgan last night when he knew that they'd buried Morgan two months ago, he wanted to hear it fast.

"Things have to change. We can't just tuck things out of sight and never learn why," he shook his head, picking up his coffee mug. "Maybe if we have answers instead of excuses, we won't have quite so many bodies turning up."

"Sometimes the answers make you wish you didn't know," Garret interrupted Paul's quiet monolog. "When I was your age, I thought knowing what and why would help, would make everything better. The answers were more horrible than the questions, and I still couldn't make things any better. There are monsters out there, most of them with teeth and claws. Things that eat people."

"I'd pieced that together myself," Paul retorted. "So why didn't the Chief at the time do something? Why didn't he tell someone?"

"Mayor Wilkins said he was already on top of things," Garret sighed and shook his head. "That was thirty years ago. He never looked any different until… until…"

"You were at the High School Graduation ceremony, weren't you?" Paul murmured. "My brother was there, he's now attending a college in Oregon. How the hell someone could do that…"

"But we can try to change things now. Wilkins is gone, finally. Oakley won't be around to tell us that it's handled, give people a line of bull and move on. Maybe Flutie'll give us enough of a budget that we can get some new people, better equipment. Enough to get rid of some of the monsters."

"We can hope," Paul smiled, and then he remembered some of the other things that he'd seen out on the streets. The whispers from the night shift. "Wilkins and Oakley are gone, but there's something else out there. A group of people. I don't know who, or why, but… I've got a bad feeling."

"It'll come apart soon," Garret rubbed at a series of round scars on the back of his hand. "Whatever it is, it will be soon, and it will be messy. Things always get messy here."

"We'll have to be ready," Paul glanced over the rest of the office. "Ready for something like Graduation again, and hope that we're over-preparing."

End part 94.


	37. parts 95 to 97

The cells and walls no longer confined them. Despite their common anger at their imprisonment, there was no group purpose, no unity among the demons and vampires that had been held in the Initiative cells. They did not have an organized strategy.

Several of them followed the quieter hallways, seeking the fastest way out of this place. They would find exits, and then either flee to somewhere far away from this place or attack the humans outside, the ones who weren't soldiers and wouldn't be armed and watchful. The ones who would be unsuspecting and terrified victims.

Others followed the sounds of people, wanting to find the soldiers and scientists. The soldiers wouldn't have the advantages of surprise this time, and they might not have their weapons ready.

A pair of vampires stalked down one hallway, fangs bared as they heard the vices of soldiers.

"… can't delay them forever. They are going to get down here, and God only knows what they're looking for."

With a roar, the pair of vampires attacked the soldiers. In the one who had been in the Initiative's keeping for three days, a chip activated, attempting to prevent the vampire from harming any human targets. Despite the pain, he tackled the darker soldier, teeth ripping at the soldier's throat. Blood splattered over the wall, almost as much spraying the corridor as going down the vampire's throat. His hands seized at the soldier's arms, the bone cracking under the force of his grip. Pain kept burning in his skull from the chip, but he ignored it. Hunger and rage burned stronger than the pain, and he had the chance to give in to them.

The second vampire had only been brought in the night before. They had hurt him with their electrical guns, and he'd been measured and inspected, but they hadn't had time to implant him with a control chip yet. He slugged the soldier, the man's jawbone cracking from the blow.

"I've heard what you boys are doing to your captives," he hissed at the stunned soldier. "Cutting them open and poking at their insides until they die. I can admire the advancement of science as much as the next Doctor."

The soldier tried to reach for his jaw, the other hand sliding closer to his pistol.

The vampire caught the both wrists and grinned as he snapped them, "Now, none of that. It's my turn to indulge in a little scientific curiosity. Time to open you up…"

A broken jaw was no impediment to screaming.

btvsXbtvsXbtvsXbtvsX

Major Joseph Danvers glared at the wall of the elevator as it carried them down into the research area. A base hidden under a college, for God's sake! He wanted to know who had authorized it, and then he wanted just twenty minutes with them, alone, with no cameras. Several young soldiers were escorting them down, having attempted an impressive number of delaying tactics. His suspicion was that the young men either didn't think they'd like what would be uncovered or feared that they would be blamed for letting the inspection team down to the facility.

Neither attitude boded well. If the soldiers feared getting in trouble after letting a group of properly identified higher ranking officers into their facility, then there were problems with the command structure. They could sort those out, though it would probably involve a long, tedious investigation and more than a few court-martials. If there were problems with what they would find down below…

He'd read the Sunnydale briefing that had been presented by Director Fury. The geographical information had been boring but ensured that he'd brought sunscreen. The population statistics had at first seemed unremarkable for California, until he got to the figures for deaths and disappearances. He still didn't understand how those numbers hadn't sent someone on the warpath about crime, murder rates, animal control, missing persons… something. The unexplained and violent deaths were five times as high as the natural causes and accidents, and once you added in the disappearances? The only word that seemed fitting was obscene.

Then he'd found the pages on vampires. He'd hoped that it was some sort of sick joke. But there was too much for a joke; pictures, photographs of wounds and scars. Transcripts of eyewitness reports. And the Director was of the opinion that there were 'other things' causing problems, and that something was wrong with the administration.

Frankly, if Director Fury said there was a rat, he believed him. Now that he was here, the question wasn't 'was something wrong in Sunnydale', it had become how much was wrong and could they fix it.

As the elevator opened, he could hear screaming echoing against metal walls.

Behind him, Joseph could hear one of the others mutter, "Houston, we have a problem."

End part 95.

Other newly liberated demons found some of the Initiative's access tunnels. Swarming up the ladders, they reached locations on the surface. Near the hospital, a leathery demon in burlap robes scurried towards a small building where several people had gathered to smoke. He could snap their bones, let their blood run over the pavement, and get a cigarette – it had been almost a week since he'd had a smoke. Letting his wide mouth stretch into what could be termed a smile, he prepared for the slaughter.

The first one fell easily, ribs snapping and a high scream emerging. The smoking cigarette fell from her hand and bounced before rolling under a bench. He growled as he moved to attack the second, irritated at the bright colors of the body hugging garments the humans wore. There were screams now, high and filled with fear. He kicked at the next human, eager to see them fall before him, eager to be the one inflicting pain again after his unwelcome stay with those wretched soldiers.

But Donna Chang had spent thirty years married to a Marine, and she hadn't been a helpless victim for a long time. She kicked at the thing's leg, hoping to catch the knee. Across from her, Scott from X-Ray punched at their attacker's torso. The leathery skinned lunatic had far too many teeth, but if he could force the air out of it, then it wouldn't be able to attack as well.

Half a dozen nurses and medical specialists beat the demon to the ground, ensuring that it couldn't hurt anyone else. As soon as they were sure it was down, they turned their attention to poor Julie Anders, checking to see just how injured she had been when that thing hit her from behind.

Emerging behind him, a pair of grey demons scurried away, eager to hide from all this chaos. Grabbing the occasional unwary hitchhiker or runaway was one thing, but being held prisoner was more than they cared to handle. They could get out of here and back to the simple life.

"Mexico?"

"Nothing good on television, but no soldiers," the second agreed.

Darting away from the access ladder, they hissed, "Mexico!"

Near one of the elementary schools, a brightly feathered demon emerged from a ladder. He swiveled his head around, examining the area before darting towards the building. He debated the merit of running while he had the chance as compared to waiting here until the succulent younglings emerged from the building to play. Yellow and orange feathers fluffed outwards as he crouched beside a shrubbery, biding his time.

More demons took an access ladder that took then to an area of the college campus. They emerged and moved away from the ladder, not wanting to make it easy to be recaptured.

Seeing scaled and clawed creatures emerging from a tunnel, someone screamed. When one person screamed, that drew the attention of most of the students in the area, though not all of them could see what had prompted someone to be shouting like that. One brawny student charged at the first monster, figuring that anything that bony and thin, even if it did have claws and scales, had to be fragile.

The second demon emerged into a tangle of flailing limbs and foul language. After a few moments to ensure that there were no guns, he leapt into the fracas with fists flying and a gleeful, fanged smile. Four dark eyes shone as he punched a brawny human, knocking down a long haired female with the fighter. Ignoring the fallen, he moved further from the ladder, enjoying his freedom.

Resembling nothing more than a scaled Chihuahua, the next creature scurried out of the hole. This demon wasn't much more intelligent than the scrawny dog that it resembled. It began growling and snapping at ankles, yipping when someone stepped on it in the confusion.

When the Fyarl demon emerged with a roar, the crowd scattered. Several people screamed, and someone shouted for campus security. Of course, the one member of campus security who had been close enough to have some idea of what was going on had no idea what he could do about that.

He didn't know what had started the screaming and brawling. From the sounds of it, someone had a small dog caught in the midst of the confusion. The relative heights being what they were, he had no idea that the brawl contained two demons already.

But the Fyarl stood a foot taller than everyone else, and easily twice as wide, with mottled green skin, curling horns on the top of its head and tusks that would make a boar envious. And the massive figure had fists the size of basketballs.

"Mutant!" Someone shouted, before adding "Run!"

The massive figure snarled out something in a guttural language, accompanied by wild gestures. There were more frightened near-screams as the people who had been brawling just moments before now fought to run away. The lone security guard made his way closer to the looming figure as the people scattered, certain that there had to be some sort of explanation.

There was an older woman standing there, her cheek bleeding. She just stared at the massive mutant, her mouth moving without a single sound.

"Ma'am? Come with me, please. You're bleeding, and someone should take care of that," he spoke to the woman, recognizing the signs of shock.

The mutant took a step closer, scowling down at the woman before snarling a few more words. When she just stood there, he reached out with a hand almost as large as her torso and pushed her towards the security man, making a gesture that could only mean 'shoo'. He said a few more incomprehensible words that sounded ominous before stomping off towards the football stadium.

In the distance, the campus security guard could hear more screaming, and some sort of sirens. Feeling a headache coming on, he towed the woman towards the nearest building, hoping to find a first aid kit. "I should have stayed in bed this morning. I really should have stayed in bed…"

"No human has that many teeth," the woman whispered, still staring ahead with a blank look. "Too many teeth. And when he bit his lip, it wasn't red, not red blood at all. It was orange. People don't… humans don't have that many teeth. And humans bleed red, not orange."

After fighting with the first aid kit and pinching his finger in the latch, he managed to get the metal box opened. "Hold still while I get your cheek, ma'am. You're bleeding."

For a few moments, she was quiet before looking at him, her eyes still tiny pinpoint pupils from shock. "He wasn't human."

"Probably not", he agreed. He'd learned more than a few horrible truths since he'd started college in Sunnydale.

"And he wasn't a mutant. Not with orange blood. Mutants are still human, and humans don't bleed orange," she continued, her hands cold.

"I know," he closed the first aid kit and sighed. "You're blouse is probably ruined, ma'am."

"He wasn't human," she whispered, still staring blankly. "And the second wasn't either. God only knows about that big one."

"You're in shock, ma'am. Is there anyone here at the college that can come help you?" He tried to get something simple out of here, hoping that there was someone he could call. A child, a husband, even a business associate.

"My daughter, Willow," the woman stammered. "She's a freshman here. Willow Rosenberg. I… I don't know where she is right now. She has a class at three. I saw her just a little bit ago near a coffee shop."

"I'll have her paged," he promised.

End part 96.

Below the campus, the research facility was in chaos. A group of soldiers had gone to investigate the screaming, finding a pair of escaped vampires. One soldier was already dead, his throat torn open in one of the goriest displays they'd seen outside of a horror movie. The second vampire had been crouched over a screaming soldier, having opened up his abdomen with a knife, revealing quivering organs.

The two vampires were now fighting with the squad of soldiers, though one of them seemed to be doing little more than growling with eyes that seemed far more red than normal. Between the narrow corridors, the still screaming soldier opened up on the floor, and the fact that none of them had their tazers this time, things were going poorly.

Two more vampires had made their way almost to the central control room before being intercepted by more soldiers. Already two of the soldiers had fallen to the floor, dead. Drywall partitions had been broken, and technicians were screaming and cowering under desks. A computer had been kicked over, cords ripped from the wall, the end still connected sparking on the tile.

Major Joseph Danvers, hearing more screams and thuds echoing along the halls, glanced at the shocked young soldiers. "Oh yes, everything's just perfectly in order down here, isn't it?"

"Fury's briefing said that shooting them in the joints would drop a vampire, though it wouldn't kill them. Those fangs suggest vampire to me." one of the other officers spoke loud enough to be heard over the screaming. "I say we get them out of the way, and figure out who's supposed to in charge of this nut-house."

Pulling his weapon, Joe fired at the nearest vampire. Blood sprayed over the nearby monitor, and the vampire spun around, the one arm now hanging limp. He fired again, this time shattering one of the vampire's knees.

"I think your facility is going to fail inspection!" someone shouted over the screams and gunshots.

Another vampire snarled and darted down a corridor. Taking advantage of their guns, they managed to drop the vampires, though one particularly close shot destroyed the vampire's neck. As the blood sprayed over the wall, the vampire's body fell to ashes.

Down the hallway of offices, Dr. Karl Lykos fell to his knees, hands clutching at his skull. He didn't know what had caused all the screaming and gunfire, but it couldn't be good. There was so much shouting, he could taste the fear and confusion… His head throbbed, and he could feel the Other shifting inside of him. "No, not now, you can't…"

But it was a losing battle. Karl Lykos lost control, and he could feel his body changing as the Other surged forth. His skin turned green and his arms lengthened into wings as Sauron burst forth, drawn by the thick emotions.

Sauron was not as foolish as some of the local demons. While contemptuous of the abilities of mere human soldiers, he had a keen awareness of the range of firearms and the Initiative's electrical weapons. He also had some idea what had been done to some of the inferior creatures captured by the soldiers, and felt no desire to experience any form of vivisection on his own green flesh.

The best thing to do would be to get out of this place, out into the open air. Then he would be free, and there would be nothing to stop him from feeding. From what his weaker other-self had learned, there were many predators that hunted in this town. They would distract any possible would-be heroes, and probably take care of the bodies of his victims. Oh yes, this would be a good place.

Shrugging out of the tattered remnants of the lab coat that Lykos had worn, Sauron darted down the hall. The corridors were too narrow to permit him to fly, but if he remembered right, there was an access garage for their jeeps and capture vans. Once he reached that, he could open the doors and the sky would be his once more.

It was that easy.

On the other side of the base, a vampire opened a door, seeking to hide from the many now-armed soldiers until sunset. Until then, he wouldn't be able to go outside, and the soldiers had already figured out that their guns, while not fatal to a vampire, could still do a lot of damage.

The room looked quite similar to the morgue where he'd first awakened, with cold drawers along a wall and a surgical table in the center, complete with a covered body. Curious, the vampire pulled the sheet away from the body.

Make that most of a body. There were several deep gouges over the face, including one that had destroyed the left eye. The arm was amputated at the elbow, and the right leg stopped at the knee. There had been several sections of different hued skin grafted over portions of the left arm and the torso, and what looked for all the world like a disk drive was located near the heart.

Staring at the incomplete patchwork, the vampire whispered, "Well damn, what the hell is that supposed to be?"

Maggie Walsh never could leave well enough alone. It was fortunate that the ADAM-2 unit was still too incomplete to be functional. Things were already bad enough for the Initiative facility. This one could still be destroyed without any danger.

End part 97.


	38. parts 98 to 100

Willow Rosenberg shook her head as she walked towards the Natural Sciences building. Demons boiling up from under the campus, mini-earthquakes, panicked people, and she had a paper to revise for next week. A paper that she'd been putting off in order to figure out this Initiative problem. She had no idea why she was being paged. If her hacking had been discovered, then it would be 'Willow Rosenberg to the Administration building', not to natural sciences. "I don't need this, I really don't. Bad enough that Mom tried to guilt-trip me over the fish, and to call me an irresponsible slacker and to try to give me some sort of weird keep away talk about Oz… The fish! A year and a half and she's only just figured out the fish are dead. I don't need this, I really don't…"

Willow's questions about why she was paged to the Natural Sciences building were soon answered. Just inside the doors, a half-familiar looking guy in a campus security jacket stood beside Sheila Rosenberg, who was sitting on a bench. He was holding a wad of gauze against her mom's face, and blood had dripped onto the shoulder of her blouse. Her mom must have been caught up in some of the demons that had popped up out of nowhere, though 'nowhere' probably meant that undercampus base that the Initiative soldiers were using. Just to be sure, she asked, "Mom? What happened?"

"He wasn't human," the words had the high, tight sound of shock, and her Mom's eyes held pinprick pupils. "The blood was orange."

Willow reached over, placing one hand over her mom's cold fingers. "I'm here now. Can you tell me what happened? Who's blood was orange?"

"I didn't see how things started, but there was some sort of disturbance in the courtyard," the campus security guard began, his words soft. "Someone screamed, and there was almost a riot. There was a tall skinny guy with scales involved somehow, and he was in the middle of the fighting."

"Orange blood. Too many teeth," Sheila's words were insistent, and she began to shiver. "Not human, not mutant."

"Yeah, the skinny guy had a lot of teeth. Very sharp teeth," the guy slowly eased the pressure on Sheila's face, removing the gauze when it didn't appear that she would bleed. "Near as I can sort out, he got hit in the face, bit his lip, and was bleeding orange."

"Ah," Willow nodded. Direct evidence of the strange and demonic did have a way of leaving people in shock, soon followed by their minds trying to find any other explanation. A cynical corner of her mind wondered if her mom would try to explain this or repress it away like she had the whole mess with MOO. "Was there only the one very strange guy?"

"There was the guy with the teeth and the orange blood, a whole lot of people throwing punches, shouting and panicking, and this one really huge scary guy," he shook his head, and looked over at Willow. "He had to have been a mutant. Probably eight feet tall, big shoulders, tusks, big curly horns on his head, and he spoke some weird language. Turkish or something, I think. Huge and scary."

Interpreting that to mean at least one human sized demon, possibly more but nothing blatant, and one really solid looking demon, Willow tugged at her Mom's hand. The description reminded her a bit of the Fyarl demon, but if it hadn't attacked then she could worry about identifying it later. "Come with me, Mom. You can't just sit here all day, and I have the feeling that my Psych class isn't going to happen on schedule."

"You aren't surprised," her mom murmured, fingers curling around Willow's hand. "Why aren't you surprised? This has been a day of horrible surprises."

"Let's get you something warm to drink. I've got a little teapot up in my dorm room, we can talk there," Willow sighed, tugging her mother along with her as she headed back to Stevenson. "This is definitely going to be a conversation that we should be sitting down for."

There were more confused and sometimes injured people that they passed on the way to Stevenson Dorm, though nobody looked to be seriously injured. The ground shook again and Willow could hear a muffled boom as something somewhere exploded, "That'll be something to look into later. Maybe Riley will know."

Another explosion shook the ground, and Willow glanced towards the noise. More screams could be heard as people let fear blind them to the fact that there weren't any flames, and no buildings had collapsed, at least not yet. Black smoke was rising from several places, including the lecture hall. The very hall that she was supposed to be in later for her lecture on sleep deprivation and its effect on memory and reactions, "So much for my Psych class."

"Wha..?" Sheila turned, her jaw dropping as she took in the smoke and the screams. "Isn't that the lecture hall?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Willow nodded, starting back towards Stevenson. This did mean they wouldn't have to sneak back into the base to neutralize things. It had been dangerous enough the first time, and she didn't like to push luck too much.

Her mother followed quietly, and in very little time they were sitting in the dorm room, her mom perched on the edge of Willow's bed while Willow herself settled in her computer chair. "Okay, Mom. I know you've had a few shocks. Let's start with the fact that the guy wasn't human. There's quite a few not humans out there, and I don't just mean mutants. They've been around for a long time, and not all of them are friendly. I've been aware of this for a few years now. They're the inspiration for a lot of old legends. There are werewolves, there are vampires, lots and lots of vampires. There's… well, now probably isn't the time to go into all that. But there's a lot more out there than most people want to believe in, and a lot of it's scary and dangerous and they just might try to eat you."

"With those teeth…" her mother shuddered again, and pulled her knees up to wrap her arms around them. It was a very pulled in, frightened position that Willow had encountered a few times when they'd saved people being held, and she'd found it in several of her psychology readings. A posture that spoke of fear. "The big one didn't try to eat me. He wanted me to go away."

"Not all of them eat people, and not all of them are violent. Some of them, like humans, are only violent under certain circumstances," she didn't go into any details about what those circumstances might be.

"This isn't supposed to happen anymore, not in America," the words were soft.

"Are you going to forget again?" Willow asked, unsure what answer she wanted. She knew how to deal with her mother repressing and ignoring things. She'd done it for years. Her mom asking questions and listening to the answers would be new and different. She couldn't remember the last time her mom had paid real attention to what she did and said, to her as Willow instead of a statistic.

"What?" Startled eyes so very much like her own, full of shock and questions.

"Every time you came close to figuring things out before, you'd just forget. You'd explain things away," Willow began, choosing her words carefully. "You make yourself into their ally when you do that. You explain things for them; you help them keep you ignorant of the truth, of the dangers. You let yourself be controlled."

"I don't want to be controlled," Sheila glared at her daughter. "Or eaten."

"Then maybe you'll listen, maybe you'll believe. Maybe this time, you won't keep me from helping," Willow smiled, daring to hope.

"Helping? But…" A headshake, "You're so young, what can you do against… against… monsters?"

"Mostly a lot of research," Willow sighed, remembering hours upon hours of paging though old tomes to identify demons or rituals before it was too late. "Lots of research, backup and first aid for the people who can fight, and trying to make sure that injured people who almost got eaten are taken care of. Granted, it's led to more than a couple injuries, but I couldn't just stand back and do nothing once I knew. I did manage to learn a few things from you and Dad."

"What sort of research?" Her mom's brows had pulled down in a frown as she nibbled her lip, and Willow found herself wondering if her own thought-filled expressions looked like that.

"Some of it involves old books. Plenty of Latin, some French, German, and a bit of Greek. Some of it's online," Willow paused and decided to take a chance. "Do you remember when you helped me set up an email account? When I was twelve?"

"Of course," her Mom's voice was steady. "We went through everything step by step, and picked out a username that didn't reveal your actual identity. There are some aspects of online communities and chat that you don't need to learn about."

Willow nodded, wondering just how much of that her mother remembered. If she remembered that they had decided Red for her hair, Rose because she liked the flower and it was part of her name, and 99 for the year she was expected to graduate. Just because her mother didn't want to forget didn't mean that she was ready to know and understand everything. Willow sighed, feeling far older than her years would suggest.

End part 98.

Buffy hugged Riley, happiness bubbling inside her at the idea that he wanted to be there, wanted to think about a future with her, even if only as a good friend that she could count on. She particularly liked the idea that he wanted to take the chance to see if they might have a future much closer, a future as Mr. and Mrs. Finn. Despite being the Slayer for almost four years, she still had a few fading bits of girlish dreams, including finding a great guy, tall and handsome, that would hold her and love her forever…

The ground shook beneath their feet. Buffy could hear people screaming, and somewhere glass was shattering.

"Do you smell smoke?" Riley tensed in her arms.

"Smoke? I'm not sure, but I hear people screaming," Buffy ended the hug, turning to look around.

More screams came from beyond the trees, and Buffy headed towards the sound, utterly certain that there was something hellmouthy going on. One of the manhole covers on campus had been flung open, and several things had emerged. One of them looked an awful lot like the fishy-things that the swim team had been mutated into, but the next was one of those tall bony things that she'd run into the other day, when her cousin Scott had gone patrolling with her.

Buffy was the Slayer, despite how much she complained about her destiny sucking. She did not hesitate, but leapt into the crowd, attacking the tall bony demon immediately. She did permit herself a moment of regret that she didn't have any real weapons with her, but she was certain that she could drop it and figure out something. The popping noise as she kicked the demon's knee sideways made her wince, and she grabbed the nearest solid object, battering at the demon's head and chest with someone's massive textbook.

People were still screaming around her. From the corner of her eye, she noted the swim team guy running, shoving people out of his way with no particular caution or violence. She could hear gunfire echoing, and had the irrational thought 'but I'm nowhere near the sewers right now' before deciding that it had to be coming from the underground base where the Initiative soldiers stayed, that it was another sign of something terribly wrong there… As if the escaping demons wasn't a give-away, as if the fact that a building was now burning wasn't a give-away… Hey, the lecture hall burning meant no psych class today.

The demon stopped twitching, and Buffy turned to hand back the massive history book that she'd grabbed. Most of the crowd had vanished, abandoning backpacks and books in messy heaps and leaving papers and pens scattered over the ground. She didn't really blame them for that, it was a bit wiggy. With a sigh, she dropped the textbook on the nearest heap and turned to look for Riley.

A couple of campus security people were talking to some of the students, and Buffy guessed that those people had been unfortunate enough to be injured, or at least injured enough to notice that instead of just running away as fast as they could. Riley was talking to another of the security people, both of them looking very unhappy. Idly, Buffy wondered just what sort of excuse there would be for this mess.

The ground shook again, and Buffy could see something large fly up from the woods. The sight of it gave her the wiggins, suggesting that it was some sort of flying demon. "Isn't there a law against flying demons? Giles had better have something in his books, because that's a new one. And I definitely can't fly after it."

"Buffy? Where did the other one go? The one that looked like the creature from the Black Lagoon?" Riley walked towards her, his eyes glancing suspiciously to the sides.

"The mutated swim team guy," Buffy corrected. "We don't know how much of their minds they kept, but they used to be human. They headed out to sea before, but I guess he came back. My guess, he's headed back to the water, hopefully the ocean, to get as far from here as he can."

"Can't say that I'd blame him for that," Riley mumbled.

Another round of gunshots echoed from the open manhole.

"Sounds like trouble down there," Buffy took a few steps closer, every fiber of her being certain that there were demons down there causing problems, demons and vampires both.

"Buffy," Riley's voice was firm. "You aren't bullet proof, and it doesn't sound like things are going calmly. They might have things under control. If they do, then it will be fine. If they don't, you could jump into a disaster. There's also a term called friendly fire. If you go down there, you could be shot before anyone realizes that you aren't a demon or vampire. Neither of us want you to get shot. Stay up here."

"I can't just do nothing!" Buffy protested.

Riley stopped, biting back his first words. One hand twitched, his fingers moving slowly as if counting. "Buffy, I don't think this is the only manhole on campus. How many other hostiles came up onto the campus? Why don't we worry about them first?"

"More demons loose on the campus?" Buffy whispered. "Oh no…"

Her mind flashed through images of what demons could do to ordinary humans. Broken bones, slashed flesh, blood and guts spilling everywhere. "The campus security won't be up for dealing with that. Call any of the other guys in your paintball group that are out and about, this could be real messy."

Riley started calling as Buffy headed for the nearest manhole, praying that she wasn't too late.

End part 99.

Ernesto Alverez had been part of the Sunnydale Campus security for almost five years. He'd mastered the art of helping unfortunate students get back into their dorm rooms after locking their keys inside, and was fairly good at spotting a truly embarrassed student from someone lying in an effort to get into someone else' room to cause problems. He could handle drunken frat boys. He could deal with the fall-out from panty raids and farm animals placed inside buildings. Ernesto had even survived a few vampire attacks, reinforcing his habit of wearing his Abuela's rosary around his neck at all times, especially when it was dark or overcast, and he carried bottles of holy water with him, passing them off as nothing more than Aquafina, the source of the bottles that he used. Anyone suspicious got a face full of water, saving him on a dozen occasions, and saving students wandering back from night classes or parties so many times that he'd stopped counting.

When the manhole near the mathematics and computer science building flipped upwards, revolving twice before landing with a loud clang, he knew that trouble was happening again. Muttering "Isn't this supposed to happen after dark?" he immediately reached into his pocket for the emergency pager, tapping the button to send a distress call. If the faculty liaison had been honest with him and the other guards, the signal would reach the campus security office and the police station in town.

The creature that emerged wasn't a vampire, though the sunlight would have made quick work of any vampire foolish enough to pop out now. It had green scales and a series of plates down the length of its back, reminding him of some of the dinosaur-human blendings a former room mate of his had made for an art project. With a growl, the creature pulled one of those plates from its back, glaring at the students with dark lizard like eyes.

Ernesto grabbed the manhole cover and slammed it into the demon's arm and head, wincing at the cracking sounds. It reminded him of green sticks breaking. Raising the lid for a second blow, he hissed "No students get eaten or killed if I can stop it."

In the Sunnydale police station, a light began to blink as one of the distress buttons given to the college campus security guards were activated. As the police officers generally looked at the college guards as second rate crossing guards, the first thought was that whatever had set them off couldn't be that bad.

Then they got a call about some sort of 'freaky monster' that had attacked a group of hospital employees. Those in the know about things matched the description to a demon.

An elementary school called the police and animal control both, reporting that some sort of giant bird that seemed to have teeth was lurking in the bushes outside one of the classrooms, and the children were terrified. In the background, someone was vowing to never watch Sesame Street again.

The college panic buttons continued to be triggered.

By the time the ground shook and a column of black smoke started rising, nobody was joking about twitchy campus guys writing parking tickets anymore.

The precautions requested by Paul Blaisdell didn't seem like someone being paranoid and overly prepared anymore. Officers began grabbing bottles filled with a blend of rock salt, holy water, and powdered garlic along with their handguns as they rushed to respond to a dozen frightened 911 calls.

The police dispatcher noticed that each of the strange calls came from somewhere near the UC Sunnydale campus. That would definitely be something to look into later.

End part 100.


	39. parts 101 to 103

Forrest typed at the keyboard, working on a report for his literature class, his mind going over curses on the Teacher's Assistant cover that someone had dreamed up for him and some of the other Initiative guys. It wasn't that an education was a bad thing, or that he didn't want a marketable degree. He just felt like there were too many things going on and not enough time to handle everything as well as he thought it deserved. Helping with the grading, homework and assigned readings for his own classes, patrolling the area, writing up his mission reports, searching the files, and now his nagging sense of almost-guilt and worry over having reported the Initiative.

"Too many things, not enough time…" Forrest sighed.

His shoulder ached, and he found himself glancing around the room again. Something was… he didn't know what had his nerves on edge, but he felt more uneasy than he normally did walking through a cemetery at night. The weather was fine. The hall and room were quiet, with only the tapping of fingers on keyboards and the hum of computers. No matter how many times Forrest tried to figure out what was wrong, or weird, or whatever the hell was setting him on edge, he had no answers. Frustrated, he saved his report to the disk, and put the disk back into his bookbag, muttering about nerves, creepy towns, and twitchy eyes.

The room trembled and the power flickered twice before settling back on. Students shouted and cursed as files were lost. He could hear other people being just as confused, their questions and demands for explanations blurring into meaningless noise. Several teachers tried to establish calm, insisting that it was nothing more than a minor earthquake, to sit back down and stay calm.

It couldn't have been more than five minutes later that the room shook again, and he heard shouting about smoke and burning buildings and canceled classes. People crowded tot eh windows, murmuring and thinking out loud about what might have happened.

"The lecture hall's got smoke billowing out! I think it's on fire," a guy in a grey shirt announced.

"Look, the manhole just opened up," squealed a girl in a pink shirt.

"Is someone coming out of it?"

Considering the gasps and half-smothered screams that came next, Forrest had a very bad feeling. A quick glance showed that the computer lab supervisor was just as confused and flustered as everyone else, so Forrest pulled out his cell phone. Maybe someone at the Initiative could explain what was going on. Or maybe the proverbial shit had just hit the fan.

Graham didn't answer.

Riley didn't answer.

John Carter from Beta squad didn't answer.

Pamela who filed papers down in the base didn't answer. Her phone didn't even ring, it went straight to voicemail.

He tried to call Dr. Lykos, one of the base psychiatrists. He didn't answer either.

Swearing, Forrest tried to call Lowell House, deciding that anyone who could give him half an idea what the hell was going on out there would be welcome. Finally, someone answered, "Lowell House, Sunnydale U."

"This is Forrest Gates, can you tell me what's going on? Nobody's answering their damn phones," he growled.

"A dozen soldiers arrived about a half hour ago," the guy on the other end sounded worried.

Forrest frowned, trying to both remember the other guy's name and to figure out how an inspection could cause all of this. He could see the face that went with the voice, a square jawed guy who looked straight out of a 30's mob movie, but he was drawing a blank for the name. Certain that the answer would be no, he asked, "New guys on rotation?"

"Official inspection ordered by the top."

Forrest nodded, his stomach sinking as he remembered that email. He just hoped that things weren't going to go from bad to worse because of it. "Inspections are a part of life. When did they go down?"

"Walsh wanted us to delay them," there was a pause, and a muffled shout about cars and ugly Chihuahuas. "They were headed down when the first tremor hit."

"You don't think the two are connected? Inspection team shows up, things start to go wrong?" Forrest tried not to ask what he really wanted to know – was someone inside trying to destroy the evidence before it was uncovered.

"Things always tangle up when the inspection's here, you know that. But beyond that… they were still in the elevator going down, man. None of them could have done anything. It's all just…"

There was a muffled scream that carried through the phone. "Fuck, talk to you later." With a click, the line was silent.

Forrest closed the phone and dropped it back into his bag. The idea of things going wrong at the house as well as here didn't make him feel any better. Panicking wouldn't help anyone but Hostiles, so he left the lab and headed towards the building doors. His shoulder may have put him on light duty and no patrols, but he could still try to help. If he could get some of the civilians inside and out of range of Hostiles, then that would be something.

There had been chaos, disorder, and destruction. But his work was _not_ done. Joseph Danvers swore as he looked around what had been the central hub of the Sunnydale Initiative. Drywall had been shattered and sprayed with blood and other fluids from inside bodies, some of which had never been human. Computers had been thrown to the floor, and there had been a couple minor electrical fires, the bitter smoke adding to the confusion. There were dead bodies on the floor, some them human, as well as a heavy scattering of dust that had been vampires a short time ago. Vampires. Vampires and monsters. Damn this town.

Most of the monsters had emerged from a hall on the left, and he wasn't willing to swear that they'd all come into this area to be killed. He also wasn't willing to believe that there would only be one way for them to leave wherever they'd been before. Figuring out how many people were dead, how many injured, and ensuring that everyone was accounted for was a priority.

"Alright, I want some of you to head down that hall, see where they came from. Nobody goes anywhere alone, I don't want someone killed because we missed one. Another group go down that hall, we need a sweep. Shoot the hostiles, bring the wounded here for medical attention, and figure out if anyone's missing."

He could hear one of the others asking a wounded woman in a lab coat how many other ways out of the base there were, and if any of the creatures could have escaped. Her next words froze him to the bone. The facility was underneath the local college. There were several maintenance tunnels and a concealed underground garage for their soldiers.

"In case there was any doubt, this facility has failed inspection," Joe glared. "Start the sweep."

End part 101.

Buffy sighed as she looked around the campus. Part of the lecture hall had collapsed, and there were still bits of smoke rising from the building. She had no idea if anyone had been inside, or injured from whatever had happened to cause the smoke. Her gut said it tied in to the Initiative, but she had nothing to back that up.

Over a dozen people had been injured in the mess resulting from the demons popping up from the manhole. Nobody had died, and none of the injuries were life threatening, but it had been a mess. Part of her hoped that the demons hadn't been poisonous, and another part was annoyed that a good chunk of the injuries had been caused by other people trying to get away. More people had been injured at the second manhole, though nobody had died at that one either. A couple students had been taken to the hospital, and she hoped they would be okay.

She hoped Willow and her mom were okay, they'd gone off to talk a little before everything had gone crazy.

Thinking about Willow and Mrs. Rosenberg reminded Buffy of her own mother. Pulling out her phone, she called the gallery, hoping that things there were normal. Not that Sunnydale was ever that normal.

The phone was answered by a strange male voice, "Sunnydale Art Gallery, may I help you?"

Buffy felt herself tensing, and tried to sound calm as she spoke, "I'm trying to get in touch with Joyce Summers."

"Just a moment," he sounded polite, as if he answered phones all the time.

Buffy frowned, pacing along the square. The person who worked at her mom's gallery was a woman. Vic's showing was supposed to go on for a while, so there shouldn't be any shipping people unlading boxes of art. Whoever he was, this wasn't Vic, and while Buffy still didn't think he'd be good for her mom, he would at least be a known voice.

After a few nerve-wracking moments, she heard another voice. "Sunnydale Art Gallery, this is Joyce."

"Mom? Is everything there okay? Who answered the phone?" Buffy glanced the direction of the gallery, as if she could see her mom from here. The idea was silly, but she wanted to know that things were okay, that her mom was safe.

"That was Ira," her mom sounded amused. "Ira Rosenberg. He and Sheila have been helping me deal with having strange people breaking into my house. And since they are Willow's parents, and she is one of your few friends, I thought it might be a good idea to get to know them a bit better."

Buffy snorted, not seeing how the Rosenbergs' could be of any use. It wasn't like they'd been very supportive for Willow, and she still remembered her mom and Willow's mom trying to burn them at the stake last year. Her mom had apologized, saying that she had no idea what had come over them, but as far as she knew, Willow's mom had repressed the whole thing. "Yeah, just don't expect them to know anything about what Willow's been up to since she was twelve."

"You must be exaggerating," her mom insisted.

Buffy let the line hum, part of her delighted that her mom was fine, and part of her worried about what else might be lurking. She could hear sirens, both in the air around her and a fainter sound over the telephone. "Mom? I want you to be careful. Something bad had happened over here, and I don't have the details. The lecture hall's half collapsed and burning, and we had demons popping out of the manholes. Be safe so we can argue about how much Willow's parents don't know about her, okay?"

"Ordinarily, I'd be rather annoyed that you're planning an argument, but I'll let that go today," laughter kept attempting to break though the quiet words. "Goodness, is that another fire truck?"

"Mom? Is something wrong over there?" Buffy could feel her muscles tensing, and she once again looked towards the gallery, rising on tiptoes despite knowing full well that she couldn't see the building from here. The lecture hall was still burning, and she could see thin lines of smoke rising from a few other places as well.

"I think they're heading your way," there was a pause and then her mom whispered "Be careful, Buffy."

"Sure," Buffy tried to smile as she ended the call.

"I think everything that's your part has been handled," Riley offered, his eyes still searching around them for any sign of demons. "I think all the hostiles are either slain or made a run for it. They can be taken care of on regular patrols later. Let the fire department handle the buildings; let the hospitals and EMT's handle the injured."

"I talked to Mom, she's at the gallery. The weird part is that Willow's dad answered the phone. They're both fine, I don't know about Willow and her mom. This was just…" Buffy shook her head, struggling to find the right words. "It's like Graduation again, on a small scale."

"Remind me to ask you for that story later," Riley smiled, and gave Buffy a one armed hug. "I need to find out what's going on with the guys."

Buffy nodded, thinking that it might be a good idea to check in with Xander and Giles, especially with Xander's knack for getting caught up in demony things. At least Scott and Jean left Sunnydale before this happened. "At least with the sunshine, there isn't as much of a problem with the vampires."

"Thank goodness for small favors," Riley agreed.

End part 102.

Sheila Rosenberg made her way back to Joyce's gallery. Her cheek stung where the claw from that mutant - or perhaps monster was a better word – where the claw had slashed at her face. That oddly detached and lightheaded feeling that came with shock was still there, though not enough that she was willing to remain in Willow's dorm room. There were too many ugly things spinning through her mind. Vampires. Demons. Her daughter helping fight those things.

Part of her wanted to curl up in a corner and rock, to make all of this go away. She'd had the same feeling when her favorite cousin had killed herself. She'd spent three months in denial, insisting that Diane was just off at college, that she'd be back soon. Diane had remained dead, whether she'd wanted to face it or not, and denying things hadn't made the situation any better.

She could remember a few things from January, something about dead children and a trio of massive wooden stakes in the middle of city hall, with a pile of books around the bases. There was the nagging feeling that there was far more to the situation, and that it was something far uglier. She'd spent the last nine months having repressed the whole thing away.

She wouldn't make the same mistake again. She wouldn't try to deny what she'd seen. From what Willow had said, denial could cause her to wind up yet another Sunnydale statistic. Actually, that might be something to take a closer look at, once she was back at an office. Just what sort of death rates did this sleepy little town have?

Two ambulances and a fire truck roared past her, sirens wailing as they headed towards the campus. Glancing back, she could see a large plume of black smoke and a couple smaller plumes of lighter smoke.

This was hardly a calm, sleepy little town today.

Reaching the gallery, the first thing she did was give Ira a big kiss, holding him for a long minute as she reassured herself that he was here, that he was safe.

"Sheila? What happened? Joyce's daughter called a few minutes ago, and there have been fire trucks and ambulances headed towards the college…" her husband's worried questions broke the quiet.

"The lecture hall caught fire and collapsed, and there were monsters that came out of the manholes… Willow called them demons. She said that demons and vampires are real, that they've been killing people in this town…" Sheila shook her head, the words failing her.

"Do you know how absurd that sounds?" Ira asked, his fingers brushing over her injured cheek.

"More absurd than a secret military base kidnapping mutants and torturing them to death?" Joyce asked, her voice dry enough to give a person sunburn.

"Err…" Ira flushed, and looked at the computer that was still burning copies of the files to CD. The CD's would be mailed to still more people, and a set locked in a safe in a secure location. "Maybe not. But…"

"We can check some of those things," Joyce offered. She pulled the phone book from her desk drawer, and started flipping through the pages. "Why don't one of you do a bit of searching to get some of the recent death rates. Doesn't the newspaper put the back issues on line? Look into the obituary and hospitalization sections."

Sheila soon found herself looking over obituaries. Wild dogs. Gas leaks. Poisonous snakes and spiders. Deaths due to accidental falls. "Is it even possible to fall and impale yourself in the throat with a barbeque fork? Shouldn't animal control have been able to do something about wild animals, especially if they're attacking people? And have you ever seen any sort of gang signs on the buildings? Anything to support these claims of people killed by gang members on PCP…"

"Sunnydale has fifty one churches?! Where are they all hidden? The town doesn't even have a Starbucks, but we have fifty one churches?" Ira looked at the phone book.

"Something is definitely wrong with this town," Sheila agreed. "The jail's rather small and the hospital's rather big. You mentioned fifty one churches, how many cemeteries do we have?"

"Nineteen," Joyce whispered. "Sunnydale has nineteen active cemeteries, the ones that people are still being buried in when they die. I think there are three or four that got full and had to be closed. Look at the obituaries, the bodies have to go somewhere."

"Maybe she was right," Ira's shoulders slumped, and he rubbed at his temple. "How could we not have seen this before? How did we miss all the signs of something deeply and terribly wrong with this town?"

"Maybe she's a bit more like us than we thought," Sheila whispered. She could still remember the way she'd wanted to change the world when she was younger. When she'd learned that nobody was working on the things that most bothered her, she'd started working on it herself, ignoring traditions and disregarding rules. It wasn't so unbelievable that her daughter might have done the same… Willow wasn't a sweet and shy twelve year old anymore, that talk earlier had made that clear. "Willow said she'd been helping fight the demons, though she said it was mostly research. Is that what the military was supposed to be doing? Finding ways to stop demons?"

"But what was in those files…" Ira shuddered. "When fighting monsters, you must take care that you don't become a monster yourself. The people doing those things became monsters. They might have been human, but they were also monsters."

Riley Finn sat on the porch of Lowell House, trying to figure out just how things had gone so wrong in the underground base. From the sounds of it, the entire containment protocols had just stopped working, permitting every Hostile in the cells to escape. Almost two dozen had escaped, with nobody having the first idea where they'd gone. The rest had attacked the humans, some trying to feed and others seeking revenge for the things that had been done to them. The lecture hall had been destroyed, there were damages to the Engineering and Social Sciences buildings as well as the Ferdinand dormitory, though that seemed to have been caused by panicked students rather than Hostiles.

Seventeen students had been hospitalized after the mess resulting from escaping hostiles. He didn't know how many others had been treated and released. Dr. Walsh was dead, slaughtered in her own office. Dr. Lykos was missing. Dr. Phelps was missing. Two lab assistants, a surgeon, and three janitors were also missing. Six of the lab assistants were dead, and another five were hospitalized, and it seemed like everybody who'd been in the base had been injured or inhaled something that had left them lightheaded and short of breath after they'd left the building. The base had failed inspection and all survivors were to be evaluated and reassigned.

"How in the hell did that happen?" Forrest demanded.

"I don't know," Riley looked at the buildings, glad that nothing was still burning. "I just don't know how any of this could happen."

"All of this…" Forrest gestured around. "We were supposed to be helping things. Protecting the people from the monsters. Instead…"

"Instead, it looks like we became more monsters," Riley finished for his friend.

"I won't become a monster. This mess… there has to be a way to sort it out, to untangle the chaos and confusion. To sort out what was necessary and how to prevent the hostiles from hurting people without becoming every bit as dangerous as they are."

Something in Forrest's voice nagged at Riley, and then he felt pieces click together. "You sent in a tip that something wasn't right, didn't you? You knew that someone would investigate, and find… damn, anybody who knew anything about ethics would know that some of what was going on was questionable at best."

"I didn't know this would happen," Forrest's voice was low. "I want to say that I'm sorry it went like this; that I'm sorry people got killed, but… But it's out in the open now. The experiments will be over. Capturing anything that looks different should be over."

"Was it worth it?" Riley didn't mean to ask, but the question slipped out before he could catch the words.

"I don't know. I hope so."

End part 103.


	40. parts 104 & 105 the end

"There are so many things that aren't adding up to any sort of normal answer," Ryan Stevens murmured, handing his boss a stack of papers. "The hospital is twice the size that you would expect for a town with only thirty thousand people, and it stays fairly full. While there are some larger cities nearby, they aren't the reason the hospital stays in business, they have their own medical facilities. The jail's about half the size most towns of comparable population have, likewise the police force."

"Those could be explained away. What has you twitching over there, Stevens?" the man in gray took the papers, glancing over them while he listened to his agent.

"As near as I could tell without physically breaking into the Board of Elections, this summer had the first mayor elected in this town. The last one died under strange circumstances, and nobody seems to know when he came into office, he's just always been there, and apparently his father held office before him. Oddly enough, nobody could give me a cause of death for Richard Wilkins the third, but everyone agreed that it was on the same day as the eclipse. He's just one of too damn many strange deaths and disappearances in this town." Failing to conceal a shudder, Ryan mumbled, "what kind of town needs nineteen cemeteries anyhow?"

"How many disappearances are you talking about?" there was a twist to the man's lips that could pass for a smile and a tilt to one dark eyebrow.

"Several hundred a year, across all ages. Apparently, quite a few people just go out and never come back. There's a high real estate turnover, not to mention the employment turnovers…"

For several long moments, the man in the gray suit was silent, his empty eyes staring at the wall as his thoughts spun in a dozen twisted directions. He leafed through the papers as he made a soft hmmmm. "Excellent hospital, good infrastructure, inobservant police, hundreds of disappearances given no more than a cursory report and a token search if they're underage or particularly attractive… Dozens of empty buildings… I do believe that we've found a place to establish another base of operations."

"That's one way to get a good look at what's going on," Ryan nodded. Setting up a base here would give a lot more time to try to sort out what was going on in the town. He couldn't give a logical reason for the feeling, but something from the pit of his stomach was quivering, wanting to scurry away from this town right now. He didn't want to set up a base here, he didn't want to keep looking for McGee; he wanted to go somewhere else, anywhere else.

"While we're here, someone needs to figure out what the hell happened to Cantu," his boss grumbled. "I'll begin drawing up the requisition orders and staffing requirements."

As Ryan Stevens left the office, he couldn't help thinking that finding Charlie McGee would no longer be their biggest problem.

*** ********

While the man in the gray suit was plotting the best way to find and capture Charlie McGee and force her to become a weapon under the control of his agency, Charlie was walking along a gravel path in a garden in Westchester, New York. She was listening to Scott Summers pointing out basketball courts, vegetable gardens and greenhouses, and a path to a nearby lake. Charlie, Tara, and Justin were trying to remember where things were in this new school.

"It's almost as big as the UC Sunnydale campus," Tara offered. "Not as many people, and a lot more green things growing."

"Football and soccer out on the yard?" Justin gestured at a patch of grass with several areas scuffed thin and a few poles driven into the ground.

"Informally," Scott agreed. "You did see how we landed in a hanger that's normally hidden under the first basketball court. The plane didn't originally have vertical take-off and landing capabilities. That's just one of the modifications that we put in place."

"Cool. I can't wait to start working on engines," Justin grinned.

A Frisbee almost clipped Justin in the head, and a handful of people chased after it, with a solid dark haired guy grumbling that 'Bobby was supposed to have caught it.'

Another guy, with smaller shoulders and light brown hair smiled at them, "Hey, new students? Sorry about the Frisbee, Pete keeps forgetting that the rest of us aren't as tall as he is and it went right over my hands. I'm Bobby, the redhead's Theresa, and Pete's the big guy. Jubilee should be… here she is!"

Another person caught up, an Asian girl wearing a bright pink shirt. "You said you wouldn't launch it into the house again… ohh, hi! What do all of you do?"

"I survived my home town without getting eaten, and I can bend light around corners," Justin grinned at her.

Tara shrugged, mumbling something that ended with her name, visibly nervous around all the strangers.

Charlie shrugged, giving a half smile. "I'm Charlie, and I do a couple things with varying skill. But since I've got a few mutated genes, some nasty people were after me. Scott and Jean said I'd have a place here, and I could be safe and learn a bit better control."

Somehow, the group of teens took the tour away from Scott. The flocked Justin, Tara, and Charlie away with them, talking about the recent shop projects that Mr. Summers had assigned, the history lectures from Ms. Munroe, and Jubilee chiming in with a few things about 'the Professor' and his physics lessons. Theresa didn't speak above an accented whisper, but she did mention that there were music lessons offered.

Charlie hoped that she could stay here for a while. It seemed like a nice place.

End part 104.

Joyce opened the door, smiling at Vic. Despite the fact that he almost blocked the whole doorway, despite the fierce gleam in his eyes and the sharp nails on his hands that could be mistaken for claws, she felt safer seeing him. "Good to see you."

"Joyce," he leaned down, wrapping her in a solid hug. "I know there were a lot of sirens headed towards the college, is your daughter all right? And the little redhead, Willow?"

"Buffy called, she insists that she's fine. Something exploded, one of the buildings collapsed, and apparently some demons popped up out of manholes on the campus. Buffy said that she thinks the problems have been taken care of, but she sounded worried. Sheila went to talk to Willow about her classes and came back mumbling about demons, denial and orange blood, and it sounds like Willow had a few angry words for her but wasn't injured. It's just been a long, strange day," Joyce sighed, and leaned against him.

"Your daughter seems okay, good in a fight and quick on her feet. Willow's a good kid, but she's got a bit of a temper. I knew her and the boy she's friends with, Alex… he said he went by Xander now… they're both good kids. Pretty good at slipping out of trouble." He closed the door behind him, and guided Joyce to the couch in her office.

Snuggling on the couch, Joyce sighed, "Can't things settle down and let us catch our breath? Can't we sort things out and try to be happy for a little while?"

"Why settle for a little while? I'll rip anyone who tries to ruin this apart," Vic's words held more than a hint of a growl.

"Isn't that a bit excessive?" Joyce murmured, still snuggled against Vic, her feet curled on the couch and her head leaning against his shoulder.

"I guess we can try warning them off first, but sometimes force works the best," Vic rubbed her back, and sighed. "Things have you stressed. Can I help you relax?"

Part of Joyce wanted to argue that violence wasn't a good solution. Another part of her remembered that blond man who'd threatened Buffy during Parent-Teacher night a few years ago. The blond vampire that she'd hit over the head with an axe. Maybe there were times when violence worked pretty well…

"Promise not to leave me alone against the big, bad world?"

"Promise."

Joyce looked up with a smile, "That will make it better. Not needing to deal with this alone, and having someone who's there for me, to hold me and tell me that it will be okay in the end…"

Vic pulled her close, and held her. "I won't be run off, and this world's not going to get rid of me that easily."

It would have to do, for as long as what she and Vic had lasted. She just hoped that it would work out better than things with Jim, or Bailey, or Hank, or Ted, or that brief, awkward fling with Rupert when they'd had that strange chocolate… Joyce tried to push her worries away for now. Carpe diem, because you only have so many tomorrows to enjoy.

*******

Anya closed the door behind her, listening carefully to the sounds of the apartment. She could hear the shower running, and Xander's slightly off-key singing. His was the sort of voice that would never make millions of dollars as a musician, but would have been wonderful leading a battle-chant a thousand years past. He put his heart into his singing, into everything that he did. She did mean everything. A smile slipped over her face as she locked the door.

Heading into the bathroom, she peeled off her shirt, letting it drop to the couch. The danger had passed, and neither of them had died or been seriously wounded. It was time to celebrate that continuing health, and the best way that she could think of was plenty of sex.

"Oh Xander? I think it's time for post not quite a battle sex…"

There were times when she was very glad that she'd returned to Sunnydale. This would soon be one of them.

*******

Ira and Sheila Rosenberg looked over the last couple days' worth of newspapers, wondering how they had been so blind as to not notice any of this for so long. They'd known there had been plentiful real estate options, but they'd never really thought about why there were so many homes and stores on the market. They'd never really thought about the substantial obituaries, missing persons, and hospital admission sections.

"Between what we've been missing for so long about the town and what was going on in that base, this town is… It's a nightmare," Ira shook his head.

"She said people want to explain it all away, that people don't want to know," Sheila closed her eyes, seeing her daughter's face again, seeing Willow's eyes as she had asked if she'd repress it all again, accused her of forgetting what had happened in January.

"Willow said that?" Ira blinked, looking at his wife. "Our shy little girl said that?"

"She said things about stalkers and being hospitalized, about being class valedictorian and we weren't even in the state for her graduation. She said there were demons and vampires, and she's been fighting them… I've never felt like I've disappointed someone so much, Ira," Sheila whispered, feeling her throat close up and her eyes watered.

"Maybe we need to have a family conference," Ira offered.

"If it's not too late to build something," Sheila agreed. "Our daughter shouldn't be such a stranger to us."

Making plans for tomorrow, the Rosenbergs continued scanning files and newspaper articles. Each article left them more dismayed at the town they had left their daughter unprotected in, more appalled at the crime and accident rates. More appalled at what had been done in the names of 'scientific curiosity' and 'protecting civilians'.

Only time would tell if these plans would be carried out.

End part 105.

End Tangled Plans.


End file.
